


How Seamus Finningan began a relationship and Blaise Zabini ended it

by mfingenius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Angst, Bets & Wagers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Past Abuse, Rating May Change, Tall Harry, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Warnings May Change, only one of them knows tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfingenius/pseuds/mfingenius
Summary: Harry can (and has) shag anyone he wants, so when Seamus bets him there's no way he can get into Draco Malfoy's pants before the Winter Hols, Harry's definitely going to do it, even if he didn't want to before.Featuring a very skeptic Ron and Neville, smug Seamus, and a very, very suspicious Blaise Zabini.No Voldemort AU, still Magic, still Hogwarts.





	1. How Seamus Finnigan began a Relationship

“Seamus, he’s practically slept his way through Hogwarts, yeah, don’t bet on this.” Dean groans, shaking his head. 

Ron snorts and Neville shakes his head slightly, but Seamus’s grin merely widens. He’s lying upside down on his bed, sucking on an acid pop. 

“I know who you’ll never get to sleep with.” He says, and Harry smirks cockily.

“Seamus, if he’s even a bit bi I can get into his pants.” He says, popping another caramel into his mouth.

Seamus shakes his head stubbornly. “Not this one.”

“Who is it?” Ron asks curiously, munching down on some muggle MARS bars. He’d discovered them last summer while in the carnival with Hermione, and he’s been in love with them ever since. 

Seamus grins. “Draco Malfoy.”

Neville, Seamus, Ron, and Dean hum in agreement.

“What?” Harry asks defensively. “I could definitely get into his pants.”

“Sorry, mate, but he hates your guts.” Neville says, raising his eyebrows. “There’s no way he’d let you shag him.”

“I agree.” Ron nods. At the betrayed look Harry throws at him, he shrugs apologetically. “Mate, come on. He dated Diggory for eight months and even I heard he didn’t put out.”

“We were fourteen then though,” Neville points out, frowning.

Harry hums thoughtfully, ignoring the pair. “What are you betting?”

Seamus grins. “If you get into Malfoy’s pants, you’ll get to be the first one to use the shower for the rest of the school year.”

“Hey!” the rest of the boys protest, as Harry hums thoughtfully; the first one to use the shower is the only one that gets hot water, and, though it’s only the first of September, it’ll become crucial during winter. 

“Oh, come on!” Seamus says, rolling his eyes. “You were all betting against him a second ago!”

Harry rolls onto his stomach, interested. “And if I lose?”

Seamus grins. “If you lose-”

“Which you will,” Neville warns.

“You’ll show up to potions, with Snape, naked.” 

“That’ll get me detention for the rest of the year!” Harry complains, frowning. 

“Yup.” Seamus pops the p, just to be annoying. He bats his eyelashes. “Unless, of course, you’re as good as you think you are and do get into his pants.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, and the corners of his lips quirk. “How long would I have?”

Seamus hums. “Say… here until the Winter Hols. And you’ll have all of January and February of delicious hot water.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “So? What’d you say, mate? Up to it? Or are you scared?”

Though Harry knows it’s not the smart thing to do, his competitiveness gets the best of him, so he says, “Fine. I will get into Malfoy’s pants before the Winter Hols, and I’ll have hot water for the coldest months of Winter.” 

“If you get into his pants.” Ron reminds him. “Which is unlikely.”

“Impossible.” Dean corrects. “Diggory couldn’t,”

“I’m not Diggory, though, am I?” Harry raises his eyebrows.

He’s already running through ideas, wondering what’s the easiest and fastest way to get into Malfoy’s pants. He doesn’t have eight months. He doesn’t need eight months, he thinks. He’s gotten into other’s peoples’ pants in an hour, he’s known Malfoy for almost seven years now, he can do this.

“We were fourteen!” Neville reminds again, exasperated.

The next morning, Harry’s extra early to Transfiguration so he can sit next to Malfoy. As per his predictions, Zabini’s not here yet, leaving his usual seat next to Malfoy empty – he’s usually always shagging someone between classes, which must’ve something to do with his Siren heritage – and Parkinson’s in the table in front, leaving the seat next to Malfoy’s free. 

He sees Hermione gape at him from the corner of his eye, but he ignores it in favor of looking at Malfoy, who has a similar expression to Hermione’s.

“Um, Potter, your friends are over there.” He says, and makes a shooing motion with his hand.

Parkinson’s looking at him critically, frowning.

“I know,” Harry says. “I want to sit here.”

Malfoy huffs irritably, rolling his eyes. “Why? We’re not friends.”

Harry shrugs. “We could be.”

Malfoy doesn’t answer; he’s staring at Harry like a screw’s gone loose in his head, – maybe it has – and there’s a small frown on his face.

“You look good this year.” Harry says, looking Malfoy up and down rather obviously, and he’s shocked to find out he’s not wrong.

Last year, in sixth, Malfoy looked like a walking corpse. He’d stopped eating, and Harry’d found out – after following Parkinson under the cloak for three hours until she was summoned to the Headmistress’s – that Malfoy wouldn’t even get out of bed some days, which explained why Harry didn’t see him most of January through March. It’s a wonder he didn’t get expelled, or fail any subjects.

Parkinson’s furious, though Harry suspects that has more to do with the fact that she’s furious he’s even near mentioned last year than jealousy, as she’s been courting a muggleborn Slytherin a year below them named Sara Oliveira-Milan, who Harry secretly – very secretly – thinks ought to have been a Hufflepuff, from what he knows of her.

“What?” Malfoy asks. His cheeks are red, and that sends an uncomfortable sensation through Harry’s stomach, but he ignores it. “Potter, have you gone mad?”

“No,” Harry says, because he really hasn’t. He thought this’d be absolute hell, but, for some reason, he kind of wants to do this. “Do you fancy Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Malfoy’s mouth is half open, eyes wide, looking up at Harry.

He hasn’t been taller than Harry since fifth year, when Harry’s growth spurt had kicked in like fucking steroids, making him almost a head taller than the previously tallest person in their year (Ron). Apart from that, he’d gained muscle in sixth year, which made him look even bigger, or, in Hermione’s words ‘a huge fucking tree, Harry Potter, how dare you, I used to be taller than you’.

And Malfoy’s… well, Malfoy’s tiny. He’s barely up to Harry’s chest, and he’s slim, and, though reasonably strong, he’s lean, and Harry’s shoulders are three times as wide.

“What?” He asks.

“Hogsmeade.” Harry repeats. “This weekend?”

Malfoy – Draco, Harry reminds himself – opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally speaking.

“No, thank you.” He clears his throat, surprisingly polite. Harry’s not about to give up, of course.

“You’re not going?” He asks casually.

It’s clearly the wrong way to go, because Malfoy’s – Draco’s – cheeks flush in anger, and he glares venomously at Harry, all hint of politeness gone.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you, Potter,” He snaps angrily, and, before Harry can apologize, Zabini arrives a second before McGonagall does, and he throws a questioning look at Draco and then a very suspicious one at Harry before he sits with Parkinson in front of them, and Ma-Draco ignores him for the rest of the lesson. 

Harry’s next class is Divination, which Draco doesn’t take, so he has an hour to think of what to do next before Potions.

He’s lucky again – Zabini’s probably off shagging some other gal or bloke as he often is, and Parkinson rarely in Potions anymore, as it is Sara Oliveira-Milan’s free period – and he sits next to Draco again, only to get an exasperated look from him.

“Potter, what the fuck?” he demands. “We’re not friends. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. Why are you sitting with me?”

Harry thinks quickly. If he lies, Malfoy could see right through it, and there goes his chance. There’s no way he can tell the truth, though…

“I want for us to be friends.” Harry states, and Draco’s eyes narrow. He decides to be a bit more honest. “I want to take you on a date.”

That’s not a lie. That’s definitely not a lie, as he doubts he’d get into Malfoy’s pants any other way.

“Why?” Draco asks, rolling his eyes. “You hate me!”

Harry hums thoughtfully, shrugs. 

“I don’t think I do.” He says. “I think I like you. A lot. And I want to go out with you. And I wanted to apologize, I didn’t mean to imply in transfiguration that you need to give me explanations of any kind.”

Draco looks at him warily, opening his mouth hesitantly before he closes it again. He looks scared, Harry thinks, though he can’t imagine why.

“It’s okay if you say no,” Harry grins, silently begging him to please, Malfoy, please say yes, I need to shag you as soon as possible. “I can just ask again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And after, and after, and after, in increasingly public and ridiculous ways-”

That does the trick.

“Fine!” Malfoy snaps. “If I go out with you-” Harry grins victoriously, and Malfoy glares again. “If I go out with you, you’ll let it go?”

Harry nods. “I will.”

He won’t.

“Fine.” Malfoy grumbles, cheeks turning pink. “Hogsmeade, Saturday, Honeydukes, eleven a.m. Don’t be late. And, Christ, Potter, if this is some sort of prank I will make your life a fucking living hell.”

Harry flashes him a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Draco.”

And, just for show, he plants a big kiss on his cheek, leaving Malfoy redder than Ron’s hair. Harry grins, and Malfoy glares at him, the effect thoroughly lessened by the color of his face.

“Wipe that shit eating grin of your face, Potter.” He grumbles. “This means nothing.”

“Sure,” Harry widens his grin, already thinking of his Seamus’s face when he gets hot water all winter and he doesn’t.

Draco scowls at him, and then pointedly turns to the board.


	2. The first Date

Saturday can’t come soon enough for Harry. The rest of the week goes by smoothly – Blaise Zabini keeps throwing him suspicious looks though, as does Pansy Parkinson, and he’s been sitting with Ron and Hermione for most of the week because Zabini’s been getting extra early to lessons just to beat Harry to his seat – and it’s already Friday afternoon. 

They’re sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, studying – or pretending to study, except for Hermione, – when Neville brings it up.

“Any progress with Malfoy, Harry?” he asks curiously.

Harry grins triumphantly as all the boys look towards him.

“He’s agreed to go on a date with me. Tomorrow.”

“No fucking way.” Ron says, brows raising near his hairline. “How? Did you slip him a love potion?”

“No,” Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “He agreed. We’re going to Honeydukes.”

“Honeydukes is still far from shagging mate,” Dean says.

“And you don’t win the bet unless you shag him. And you have proof.” Seamus says.

“How the fuck am I going to get proof?” Harry asks, frowning. 

“Hold up.” Hermione looks up from her parchment, cocking an eyebrow. Her dark skin is highlighted from the gentle sunlight outside, her dark hair in tight coils around her shoulders. “You’re doing this because of a bet?”

Ron frowns indignantly. 

“Of course, ‘Mione!” he says. “Why else would Harry want to shag Malfoy?”

Hermione frowns, and her glare turns to Harry, making him grimace.

“You want to sleep with him because of a bet?!” She asks.

“Look, ‘Mione, it’s not like he’ll take it seriously, or anything,” Harry tries to placate. “I’ll make sure he enjoys it too, I’ll let him down easy, alright? He doesn’t have to find out. He’ll be fine. Plus, he hates me, when we do shag it won’t mean much to him.”

“You can’t be sure of that, Harry!” Hermione says, the corners of her mouth pulling downwards. “Sex doesn’t really matter to you, maybe, when you don’t like the person!”

“Malfoy doesn’t like me!” Harry points out.

Hermione presses her lips together and shakes her head, rolling her shoulders.

“Look, Harry, were it me, I’d make the rest of your life a bloody living hell, alright?” She says. Then, “Be careful. It’s not just you. You’ll hurt him.”

Dean shakes his head, shrugging. “Nah. Pretty sure Malfoy doesn’t have feelings.”

Hermione frowns disapprovingly while Ron snorts, and she sends Harry a warning look.

“I’m just saying, Harry.” She says. “This won’t go well.”

Hermione’s nearly always right, and Harry knows this, just as well as he knows that, whatever he says, he’ll ignore it, because, for whatever reason, he’s kind of into the bet now. He wants to shag Malfoy, if only to prove to himself that he can, because it’s been bugging him ever since Seamus brought it up.

“It’ll be fine, Hermione.” He waves it away. “And look, even if he’s hurt or whatever, he’ll get over it.”

“He’ll hate you.”

He already does, Harry thinks, but he merely shrugs.

“I don’t care if he will.”

Hermione clenches her jaw and looks away.

Harry sighs, sensing she’s mad at him, and stands up. “I’m going to take a walk.”

His friends hum in agreement, and Harry steps through the portrait and walks around aimlessly for a while. Hagrid lets him help feed Buckbeak, and he goes flying for a bit before he makes his way back to the dorms.

“You’re late,” Draco says when Harry arrives the next morning, but he looks relieved.

“Three minutes.” Harry says, checking his watch.

“That’s still late.” Draco says snottily, crossing his arms and shifting from foot to foot. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d say he’s nervous. “What did you have planned?”

“We could go to Florean Fortescue’s.” Harry says. “It’s only eleven, but it’s always time for ice cream, yeah?”

To his surprise, Draco doesn’t argue, and his eyes light up the second Harry mentions ice cream.

“It’s always time for ice cream.” He agrees.

They begin walking, and Harry realizes just how difficult this is going to be. Anytime anything – or anyone, because Hogsmeade is busy even at eleven a.m. – Harry gets worried he’s lost Malfoy because he can’t see him.

“Okay, just,” Harry says gruffly, grabbing Draco by the shoulders and putting him in front of him. He doesn’t let go. “Stay here.”

Draco looks at him – making Harry chuckle lightly, because he has to throw his head back – and frowns. 

“Why?” he asks.

“Anytime anyone walks by, I lose you.” He says. “This way I don’t.”

Draco’s cheeks flush, and he glares half-heartedly as Harry guides him through the crowd. “I’m not a child.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “You are a brat though.”

He hears Draco scoffs, and he sees him shake his head, but he doesn’t respond. At Florean’s, Harry gets a single ball of chocolate ice cream and Draco gets three of Marshmallow Fluff.

“So,” Draco says, looking at him calculatingly from where he’s sitting on one of the parlor’s tables. “Are you going to tell me now why we’re really here?”

Harry panics for a moment, thinking Draco knows, but there’s absolutely no way he does; he’d kill Harry, not go out for ice cream.

“I already told you.” Harry says. “I like you. Did you just want to hear me say it again?”

“Potter, you can’t like me.” Draco sits properly for a second, then pulls his knee up to his chest. His pale blonde hair’s moussed and a little wavy, a halo around his head that Harry desperately wants to mess up. His lips are plump and red from where he’s been chewing at them, and his cheeks are a bit flushed. He’s rather attractive, Harry admits begrudgingly. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. If you weren’t such a prude I could just shag you without the dating, he thinks bitterly, but smiles. “What’s your favorite color?”

Draco scoffs. “Are you seriously asking me that, Potter?”

“Yes.” Harry responds, grinning. “Mine’s Gryffindor red – don’t look at me like that, it’s true – and my favorite dessert’s treacle tart. You go.”

“My favorite color’s green, obviously. Though I like blue quite a lot, too.” Malfoy admits, and Harry’s surprised that he’d tell him anything, even a small thing like that. “And my favorite dessert’s ice cream. Nothing even comes close to it.” 

Harry hums. “Err, my favorite subject’s defense, and I think I want to teach here after we graduate. I used to like the Aurors, but not anymore.”

“I like Lupin as a defense teacher.” Draco says. “I’m glad he stayed after Severus did what he did.” his lips purse in anger, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “It wasn’t decent.”

“It was shitty.” Harry says. “And cruel.”

Draco tilts his head a bit. “Yes. It was.” He clears his throat, flush darkening a bit. “And, uh, after Hogwarts I want to be a healer.”

Harry hums, and, before he can think better of it, he says, “I didn’t think you’d want to work.”

“Why?” Draco asks, pinch between his brows.

“Well – your family’s very rich.” Harry says, cringing at how it comes out.

Draco frowns. “So is yours.”

“Well, yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “But, uh,”

I’m not incredibly spoiled, he thinks.

“My father doesn’t want me to.” Draco says, looking down at his ice cream, pushing it around with his spoon a bit. “He thinks it’s,” a sneer. “Beneath me.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry asks, and the blonde’s eyes narrow. 

“If you think I’m like that, why would you ask me out?” He asks.

Harry clears his throat. It’d been a test – one he shouldn’t have made, not since he doesn’t really want to date Draco, just shag him because of a bet.

“I don’t.” he says. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just – it was rude of me.”

“It was.” Draco agrees. A beat of silence, and then, “Fancy a film?”

Harry doesn’t manage to hide his surprise this time, and Draco smiles a bit at his face. Draco Malfoy smiles. And not because he’s making fun of Harry! Although, maybe, he kind of is, but it’s rather friendly right now.

“How do – how do you know about films?” He asks.

“Pansy likes Sara Oliveira-Milan.” Draco says. “I’ve been forced to spend time with her.” he makes a face, but it’s oddly fond. “She’s not so bad. She introduced us to a bunch of muggle stuff. There’s a cinema not far from here that’s having a Horror Film fest, I can Apparate us.”

“Okay,” Harry says, mostly because he’s to stunned to say no.

They watch A Nightmare on Elm Street, which Harry doesn’t really care for, except he likes the way it makes Draco subconsciously snuggle closer to him. He doesn’t want to think of why he enjoys it so much.

When they’re done, they apparate back to Hogsmeade, and walk back to the castle together.

“Do you enjoy horror films?” Harry asks, genuinely curious, because Draco didn’t seem to like it very much.

He eyes Harry warily.

“Not really.” He admits. “Does anyone?”

Harry hums. “Someone must. To be honest, I don’t like them much either. Why’d you invite me to one if you don’t like them?”

“Why’d you agree?” Draco shoots back. 

“Because I like you.” Harry says mildly, and Draco’s cheeks go crimson. He glares up at Harry when he chuckles. “What? It’s cute.”

He’s shocked to find out it’s not completely a lie.

“It’s not.” Draco huffs, rolling his eyes. He pushes his hair out of his eyes – it’s longer at the top than it is at the sides, and the wind’s messing it up further. It’s still not as much of a mess than Harry’s usually is, but it’s far from Draco’s usual neatness.

“It is.” Harry says. They arrive at the castle. “I’ll walk you to the dungeons.”

“You don’t have to.” Draco argues, frowning.

“I know.”

They walk in silence for a bit, and then Draco clears his throat.

“How’re Granger and the Weasel?” He asks.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t think you cared about them, to be honest.”

“I don’t.” Draco says. “It’s polite. And Granger’s not half-bad. She’s very smart.” He shoots Harry a glare. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Harry laughs. “I won’t. They’re fine. Stressed about NEWTS and all.”

Draco hums. “We all are.”

Harry half shrugs, and can’t believe he’s going to say this.

“You’re one of the smartest people here. You shouldn’t be worried.” 

Draco looks down, but Harry manages to catch a glimpse of a small smile on his lips. It almost seems like one of those ‘moments’ from romantic films. 

“You should be.” He says. “About potions.”

And there goes the moment, Harry thinks.

He half-shrugs. “I want to teach defense, not potions. Snape hates me, anyway.”

“He hates everyone.” Draco rolls his eyes. “He’s bitter, and cruel, and petty. And he seems to hate you specially, though I don’t know why.”

Harry grimaces. His dad, Uncle Remus, and Uncle Sirius have all told him about the pranks they pulled on him. And although they were shitty and cruel to him in school, it doesn’t excuse anything Snape’s done to Harry or his classmates.

“Can’t imagine why.” He says. They arrive at the at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories, and stop walking. “Well, uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Draco says. He bites his lip for a second, and then stands on his tiptoes, presses a kiss to Harry’s collarbone – the highest place he can reach – and practically flees into the Slytherin common room, slamming the portrait shut on Harry’s very surprised face.


	3. Tom

“Look, darling,” Pansy says, crossing one leg over the other. She has her hair pulled back in a half knot, and she’s wearing a red long-sleeved dress, a bit too short. It doesn’t really seem like her style – she likes things tighter – but it might be Sara Oliveira-Milan’s, which would explain why it would be so short on Pansy. The girl’s about as short as  
Draco is, and Pansy’s almost as tall as Weasley is. “We’re just saying – it’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?”

Draco sighs, eyes the portrait, and wonders if Potter was there at dinner. He’s not been in the great hall in the whole, and Draco tries to convince himself he doesn’t care.

“I agree,” he says. “It’s just…”

“You love him.” Pansy cocks an eyebrow, and Draco feels his cheeks heat.

“I don’t.” He says, but his friends send him a deadpan look.

“He’s been your crush since, what?” Blaise says, rolling his eyes. “First year?”

Draco glares at him half-heartedly. 

“Something like.” He admits.

The three of them are sitting upside down on one of the common room couches, as they have been since they started talking about Potter. It’s a habit; Pansy’s mum always said one thought better with some blood on their heads, so they do it anytime they have a problem now, more for the sentimental value than the logic of it.

“And you’ve to admit, you two have always been kind of… intense, yeah?” He reasons. “Everything’s always been all or nothing, and that’s complicated in a new relationship.”

“Yeah,” Pansy agrees. “And…” She hesitates, and Draco knows what she’s thinking about. So does Blaise, if the warning look he gives her is anything to go by. “Just… there’s nothing wrong if it’s too soon, you know. You don’t have to date anyone right now.”

“And he’s never before given any kind of signal that he wants to date you.” Blaise continues. He means well, Draco knows. He’s worried, and Slytherins protect what’s theirs, and the three of them have been each other’s since before they were out of nappies. It doesn’t help Draco’s flash of annoyance. “We just want you to be careful, okay?” 

“When am I not?” He asks.

Pansy raises her eyebrows, and Blaise snorts beside him. 

“Is that an actual question?” Pansy asks.

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes.

“What did you do on this date, anyway?” She asks, playing with her wand.

“We went to the Cinema.” Draco says. There’s no way he’s going to tell them he kissed Potter on the shoulder when they said goodnight. He still doesn’t know why he did it – it had been stupid, and ridiculous, and he can’t even reach Potter’s gorgeously stupid fucking face. “And for ice cream.”

“Oh, you love that.” Blaise says. He cocks an eyebrow. “How did Potter know?”

“I don’t think he did.” Draco shrugs. “Luck, I guess.”

Blaise wiggles his eyebrows. “Or he’s been secretly stalking you for years.”

Draco and Pansy both snort. 

“I think I’d have known.” He says.

“If you had he wouldn’t have been a very good stalker.” Pansy points out, grinning.

Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles fondly. He’s grateful for his friends, even if they’re rather ridiculous at times.

“Well, I’ve got to go, darlings.” Pansy stands and pauses for a moment to deal with the headrush.

“Got a date, do you?” Blaise teases.

“Yes,” Pansy’s smirk turns into a fond smile, as it always does when anyone mentions her girlfriend. 

“How long has it been now?” Draco asks.

“Six months next week.” Pansy says. 

“And have you already…?” Blaise makes a rather crude gesture, and Pansy groans.

“No.”

“And have you asked her why?”

Pansy’s been freaking out for a bit over three months now, because Sara Oliveira-Milan doesn’t often want to do anything – not even kissing – with Pansy, and, despite Draco’s and Blaise’s constant advice of ‘talk to her’, she hasn’t. 

“No.” At Draco’s and Blaise’s looks of exasperation, she huffs at them. “I’m just… a bit nervous, alright? What if… what if it’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s that she doesn’t want to with me? Her last girlfriend was the Weaslette, and she’s…” She waves a hand vaguely. “Gorgeous.”

“You’re just as,” Draco says.

“Yeah,” Blaise says. “And even if you weren’t, I think you ought to give Milan a bit more credit than that, yeah? You’ve been dating for six months, I’m certain she thinks you’re the most gorgeous person she knows.” He pauses. “Right after me, of course, but I’m godly, so.”

Pansy glares, but laughs, and so does Draco.

Secretly – very secretly, as Blaise doesn’t need an ego boost – Draco thinks he’s partly right. He does look godly, with his sharp jaw and high cheekbones, his deep skin, the curls coiled at the top of his head. Merlin, even his eyes, big and round and dark.

Draco’d envied so much about him for some time. He still does, sometimes, but he’s learned to treat it differently. Not give it as much importance as he used to. 

“Hmm, I’d bump it down to human-like, but okay.” He hums.

“Fucker,” Blaise growls lightly, shoving Draco, and Pansy and him burst out laughing. “I’m a much nicer person than both of you. I should be the one with a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.”

“You could be.” Pansy reminds him.

“Nah,” Blaise waves it away. “Life’s too short, yeah? I want to enjoy things.”

Draco snorts. “Sleep around, you mean.”

Blaise shrugs. “We all have our preferences. As long as everyone’s consenting, nothing’s wrong.”

“He’s right,” Pansy says, sending them a look. “No slut-shaming.”

It’s a sensitive subject for her, Draco knows, as it is for many girls. 

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Pansy smiles a bit. “I know it was a joke, darling. It’s just-” she shakes her head. “Well, now I’m really off. Goodbye, darlings.”

She walks off. A wide smirk stretches over Blaise’s face, and Draco knows it’s a bad sign before he even opens his mouth.

“So,” He says. “Considering losing your virginity to Potter?”

Draco’s cheeks are immediately flaming, and he slaps Blaise’s arm hard, making him yelp through his laughter.

“Shut up!” he hisses.

“So you haven’t told him, then?” Blaise asks, grin still in place. 

“Not ten minutes ago you were saying I shouldn’t go out with him again!” Draco points out. “Plus, why would I tell him? It’s not like we’re anything.”

Blaise hums. “I didn’t say you shouldn’t go out with him again. I said you should be careful. Which you should always be. Especially when you’re having sex. Safe sex, alright? No spells, no sex.”

“Merlin, Blaise, shut up!” Draco says, face heating further.

“Do you know the spells?” Blaise asks, and Draco buries his face in his hands. “Because, you know, there’re like five immunity spells and you’ve got to find which one works out best. I personally like… are you dead?”

He pokes Draco with his wand.

“I wish I was.” Draco says, and Blaise snorts and most likely rolls his eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.” He says. “Anyways, we don’t joke about that anymore, remember?”

Not after last year. Not since Draco’s depression had been so utterly crippling he was walking like a zombie through his life, not dead but not quite alive either.

He’s better now, or at least he likes to think so. It’s not gone, not completely – he doesn’t know if it’ll ever be, it’s a complicated thing and it doesn’t just magically disappear – but he can mostly get out of bed now, and he doesn’t find himself standing on ledges as often as he used to.

“Fancy doing something tonight? I’m kind of bored.” And he needs to get Potter off his mind, if he’s honest. He can’t spend another sleepless night overthinking the damned kiss.

Blaise’s grin resembles the Cheshire cat’s. He has a big, picture-perfect smile, just as Pansy does – though she smiles that way less often than Blaise, as she’s usually more discreet – and Draco used to envy that about the two of them. He’s always felt like his own is kind of awkward and uncomfortable for other people.

“Some drinking? A club?” Blaise asks. Then he seems to reconsider. “Sneaking into the forbidden forest? High treason?”

Draco snorts.

“I think I’ll stick to high treason.” He says.

Blaise nods mock-seriously. “Always a fun option to consider.”

Draco chuckles.

“I was thinking of dancing, more like.” He says.

Blaise doesn’t manage to hide his surprise, but Draco can see that he tries.

“Oh…okay.” He says. “Okay. Yeah. Yes, let’s do that.”

Draco can’t stand the stunned look on his face – he hasn’t wanted to go dancing since Tom – so he does what he can think of.

“I kissed Potter.”

“On the mouth?” His best friend asks, mock-scandalized, returning to normal. “Oh my, Draco, you’re such a slut!”

Draco’s cheeks heat and he slaps at Blaise’s arm. 

“No, you shit!” he snaps. “I can’t even fucking reach his mouth.”

Blaise laughs, managing to get it under control when Draco shoots him a poisonous glare.

“On the collarbone.” He states. “Or somewhere like, I think.”

“What did he say?” Blaise asks curiously.

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I kind of… ran away.”

A snort. “Nice.”

Draco glares. 

“Lighten up.” Blaise says. “We’ll go dancing, yeah? I’ll tell Pans, and you go change into something more… appropriate for a club.”

Draco groans but nods, and he sits upright. He hates the feeling of the headrush, but he thinks it’s worth it every time. If only because it’s like they’re children again and trying to workout how to steal three cookies from Olivia Zabini’s cookie jar.

“Merlin that’s shit.” Blaise groans beside him as he sits up. A moment, and then he stands up. 

He sends Pansy a Patronus – it’s a Hyacinth Macaw, Pansy’s is an Adelie Penguin, and Draco doesn’t know what his is, because he couldn’t produce one when they were teaching them last year – telling her to get her and Sara Oliveria-Milan’s asses down here so they can go to Eden, which is their favorite club. The year before last, they went clubbing almost every weekend, since Draco loved to dance, Blaise loved to flirt, and Pansy enjoyed pickpocketing guys who flirted with her.

“Nice,” Blaise says approvingly when he sees Draco’s outfit.

“Thanks.” Draco says. He tries to hide the fact that he’s terrified of this – he hasn’t stepped foot in a club since Tom forbade him to do so – but Blaise sees right through it.

“It’s fine.” He says. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Pans and I won’t let him.”

“Sure.” Draco says, trying for a reassuring smile. “What did Pans say?”

“She’ll meet us there.”

After Blaise is finally done getting ready – he takes longer than his mother does, which, knowing Blaise’s mother, Draco understands, as she has little tolerance for imperfections in appearance – they go to the club, and Sara Oliveira-Milan and Pansy are already there, and not having a very good time by the looks of it.

Sara Oliveira-Milan’s cheeks are flushed, and she’s looking up at Pansy frowning, mouth going a mile a minute, and Pansy’s arms are crossed, her mouth pursed. They both look furious.

“I guess they’re talking.” Blaise says over the music, grimacing.

“Probably.” Draco yells back.

“Should we do something?” he asks.

“Nah,” Draco says. It’d make it worse, probably. “Let’s let them work it out.”

Blaise nods, and, soon enough, finds a guy to flirt with, leaving Draco alone. This didn’t used to be a problem; Draco’s never been half bad in the looks department, so he never has a problem finding someone to dance with, but he’s forgotten how to do this.

He rolls his shoulders to try to get rid of the tension various times, and when it doesn’t work, he considers going back to the castle.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Says a voice by his ear, and he jumps. 

“Potter?” He practically screeches. “What are you doing here?”

Potter shrugs, and Draco’s momentarily distracted by his ridiculously green eyes, vibrant even behind his glasses.

“Same as you, I’d suppose.” He says. “Blowing off steam?”

Draco gives half a shrug. “I’m here with my friends.”

“I’m glad.” Potter says. “I’m not sure I’d like it if you were here with another bloke. We’re… dating now, right?”

Potter decides now is the time to ask him this?

“We’ve been on one date!” he says.

“Fantastic date, wouldn’t you say?”

Draco rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Maybe,” he says, and Potter grins.

He might enjoy this, he thinks. It might not be as bad as he imagined.

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco can’t breathe. He tightens his hold around Potter’s forearm to steady himself, and turns towards the voice.

“Tom.” He says.


	4. Draco's budding relationship and Pansy's withering one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii I'm on [tumblr](https://mfingenius.tumblr.com/) now, if you want to follow me :))

Draco can’t move. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing.

“Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet you.” Tom looks as handsome as ever, Draco’s brain recognizes slowly. He’s also as good at making Draco feel utterly helpless as he always was.

“Harry Potter.” Potter greets, and they shake hands. Draco’s vaguely aware he’s panicking. He doesn’t want Harry to know about Tom. He doesn’t want Tom to know about Harry. He wants to be over this, wants to forget it, wants to be able to do anything other than flinch when Tom looks at him again.

“I was wondering when you’d come back to this.” He says. “You always loved it.”

Draco did. He _loved_ dancing more than anything else, thought he’d only ever stop when he physically couldn’t anymore. And then Tom came along, and, bit by bit, he’d stripped him of everything he loved. Even while at Hogwarts, when he didn’t see Tom, he Flooed and Owled and even fucking tracked Draco to make sure he wasn’t out somewhere ‘being a slag’.

“Sorry, but who are you?” Apparently, Draco’s been quiet for too long, because Potter’s talking.

“Draco’s boyfriend.” Tom says.

No.

“Ex-boyfriend.” Draco says, voice too quiet and too unsteady to be heard over the music, but he’s proud of himself anyway, for being able to talk at all.

Potter takes a look at Draco – trembling and pale – and then looks back at Tom, and he frowns.

“I don’t think so.” He says.

“Oh, I am. Aren’t I, baby?” he purrs. He reaches out and runs his knuckles across Draco’s temple, down the side of his face – where he’d hit Draco the first time, his silver ring leaving a nasty cut he’d immediately healed, apologizing and saying it’d never happen again. “We’re just in a bit of a fight right now.”

‘Ex-boyfriend.” Draco repeats, only marginally louder, but Harry seems to understand.

“Don’t touch him, mate.” He says. Draco feels Harry’s arm wrap around his waist – he flinches – and pull him backwards, and he stumbles along merely because his legs don’t seem to be working right.

Tom’s eyebrows raise fractionally, the way they always did when Draco made him angry somewhere public and he wanted him to know he’d pay for it later.

“And who are you, that you think you can tell me what to do?” He asks, voice dropping, and Draco’s terror rises so much his knees weaken, and the only thing holding him upright is Potter’s grip on his waist.

He doesn’t know what Potter says to Tom – he can’t hear past the ringing in his ears, can’t speak past his heart beating in his throat – but he knows Tom is seething. He recognizes the expression on his face.

He doesn’t have to look at it too long, though, because Potter’s hands are on his shoulders now, and he’s guiding Draco through the crowd and then through the door, and Draco feels a little bit less like a caged animal.

“I – I want to go.” He whispers. “I want – I – can we leave?”

Potter nods, seemingly unsure of himself, and accompanies him back to the castle. Draco’s immensely grateful for the silence, so of course Potter has to go and ruin it.

“Was he really your ex boyfriend?” He asks. Draco looks at him warily. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not my business, it’s just… he’s twice our age.”

Closer to three times, but Potter doesn’t need to know that.

“He was – I – he worked with my biological father.” He says. His voice isn’t as weak now, but it’s quiet. “Before he died.”

Draco has a high suspicion that that’s one of the main reasons he’d always liked Tom so much as a child. Draco doesn't remember muhc of his father, and his mother refused to tell him about him; he’d felt like Tom was the only connection he had, the only way to get to know what his father was like.

He’d stopped poking around when he was seven or so, when his mother married Kingsley Shacklebolt and Draco’d become stupidly fond of him, but Tom had continued to see Draco when his parents weren’t around.

“He used to – he wasn’t very kind to me.” It’s barely a whisper, but it seems deafeningly loud to Draco. It feels like defeat, admitting to this. It feels like a lie. “I – we broke up over the winter Holidays, last year.”

They didn’t _break up_. Draco’s dad found out and, though Draco doesn’t know _exactly_ what he did, he’s pretty sure he threatened Tom if he ever contacted his son again. Draco’d been heartbroken, not because Tom left, but because he didn’t know what to do without him.

He’d been stripped of any personality traits he had, had been trained to fit Tom’s likes and dislikes, convinced that he was nothing without him, that no one else could ever love him, that Tom was doing him a _favor_ by being with him.

“Do you miss him?” The question catches Draco by surprise.

“No.” he says, even though sometimes he thinks he might. He knows he doesn’t, knows he can’t. It destroyed him. It’s taken too long, he’s worked too hard to get here to let his mind play tricks on him. “No. Merlin, Potter. No. How can you-”

“I’m sorry.” Potter holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. You just – you’re looking kind of… far away.”

Draco doesn’t respond for a while. When they arrive at the doors of the castle, he eyes Potter discreetly.

“Thank you.” He says. Then he hesitates. “It takes a lot of nerve to stand up to him.”

Potter gives half a shrug. “You looked… distressed. And I care about you.”

Draco feels his stomach twist as he says it. There’s something about this that he doesn’t like, something that feels too forced. He shakes his head. He’s not about to accuse Potter of something after he got him away from Tom.

“Goodnight.” Draco says when they get to the Slytherin Dorms.

“Goodnight,” Potter says.

Neither of them move. Then,

“Can I kiss you?”

Draco’s heart is beating a mile a minute, but he nods anyway. Potter presses a kiss to his lips, and it’s just a second, but Draco’s left trembling even after Potter leaves with a ridiculous smile on his face.

 _Wow_ , Draco think slowly. _That was so much more than I was ready for._

He walks to his room and changes into his pajamas, and then begins to get into his bed, when he thinks better of it. He walks to Blaise’s bed – Blaise’s bed is like the official ‘something-is-going-wrong’ place of meeting – expecting to find it empty, but when he opens the curtains, Pansy’s there, eyes red-rimmed and mascara all over her cheeks.

“Hi,” She says, slowly.

Draco gets into bed beside her – they leave a space for Blaise in the middle, because he’s always been the tallest and most put together of them, and he’s a fucking furnace, so he always takes care of them – and pulls the covers up to his neck.

“I ran into Tom tonight.” He whispers shakily. “And I kissed Potter. I don’t think I was ready for that.”

Pansy nods, eyes watery even if she’s not crying anymore.

“I fought with Sara.” She whispers, rubbing at her face.

“Is it over?” Draco asks.

“I don’t want it to be,” She says, the confession too loud in the quiet room.

Draco reaches out and squeezes her hand. She squeezes back, and they don’t let go even when they fall asleep.

“Merlin, you two, hogging the covers.” Blaise’s voice wakes him up in the middle of the night, and he mumbles sleepily and rolls away from Pansy so Blaise can have a place to sleep – he almost falls off the bed, but Blaise catches his waist and drags him away from the edge of the mattress, covering them in an extra blanket. “We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Draco nods sleepily, and drifts off.

The next morning is Monday, but they have History of Magic, so they skip it in favor of lying on the grass by the lake.

“Okay,” Blaise says, loosening his tie and rolling his sleeves up. “What’s up?”

Pansy has her knees pulled up to her chest and she’s picking at the grass, mouth twisting, so Draco answers first to give her some time to gather her thoughts.

“I ran into Tom last night.” Draco says, and Blaise’s eyes snap towards him, frowning.

“ _What_?” he asks. “ _What_? What happened? Did he do something to you?”

“Potter was there.” He says.

Blaise opens his mouth and then closes it. Then he opens it again.

“Potter was there?” he asks. He sounds confused.

“Yeah.” Draco says, frowning. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Blaise shakes his head, but he’s frowning. Draco doesn’t push it because it never works with Blaise; he’ll tell them when he wants to, much like Pansy and Draco themselves.

“Well, Potter kind of… took me back to the castle.” He says. A beat of silence, and then, “I kissed him. Or well, I let him kiss me.”

“Did you like it?” Blaise asks curiously.

Draco half-shrugs, gives an uneasy twist to the grass beneath him.

“I wanted to do it.” He says. “I just – I don’t think I was quite ready for it.”

Blaise nods understandingly, and they both look at Pansy expectantly. She huffs, twisting the hem of her skirt.

“I tried to talk to Sara.” She says. “I wasn’t quite sober.”

“What’d she say?” Blaise asks.

Pansy twists her skirt further.

“She looked guilty as hell when I asked her if it was because she didn’t want to touch me. Started saying something about how it wasn’t easy for her, that she couldn’t just – that it wasn’t as simple as I was putting it.” She says. “I said it was. I don’t quite remember what I did next, but I think I told her that if it wasn’t ‘that simple’ then maybe we should break up. She was furious.”

She’d given Pansy one hell of a speech that if kissing and sleeping together was all their relationship was about then maybe Pansy was right.

“Maybe you should try talking to her again.” Draco suggests. “Sober, this time.”

He understands Oliveira-Milan, up to a point. Tom used to pressure him into things he didn’t want to do, beat him if he resisted. They broke up before it got too far, and Draco understands it’s not nearly the same situation – Pansy and Oliveira-Milan have a perfectly healthy relationship, he thinks – but feeling pressured, especially to have sex, is extremely distressful.

Pansy rubs at her face. “I know. It’s not – it’s not even like I care about the sex, alright? I don’t care if she doesn’t want to have sex. I’m perfectly content holding hands like we always do, and kissing her once every four months, I’m fine with that. I just – I want to know that it’s not me.”

Draco wonders how Potter would react if he told him that. That he wasn’t certain he wanted sex, would ever want sex, not with how nervous it made him to have anyone touch or even look at him while he wasn’t fully dressed. He decides they’re not quite at that point yet, so he won’t tell him.

“So talk to her,” Blaise says. “If you can have a conversation – an _actual_ conversation – and you decide it’s worth it, you stay. If it's not…”

He waves a hand.

Pansy rests her chin on her knees, tears gathering in her eyes. “I don’t want it to be over.” She whispers, voice small, and Draco and Blaise wrap an arm around her shoulders.

They stay like that until the bell rings.

 


	5. The Second Date

“Where were you last night, mate?” Ron asks as soon as Harry sits down for lunch. “You didn’t tell us this morning either.”

“Oh,” Harry says, half shrugging. “I was with Draco.”

Seamus’s fork clatters on his plate where he’s dropped it, and he gets closer to them.

“As in _with_ _him_ with him?” He asks.

Harry briefly considers lying, telling them that they already shagged, but Seamus is a terrible gossip, so not only will Draco deny it, but Harry’ll never win the bet.

“No.” He says. “Just with him. Went to Eden.”

“That’s why you ditched us?” Ginny asks, frowning. “You hate clubs!”

Harry shrugs. “I thought it’d be a good opportunity to get on with the bet.”

Hermione gives a disapproving frown, but she’s still looking at her book, so he doesn’t bother to defend himself.

“Which I’m assuming didn’t happen?” Neville asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No,” Harry says. He hesitates before speaking, because it feels oddly personal, but these are his friends, so it’s fine. “We ran into his ex. He was shitty, apparently.”

“You ran into _Tom Riddle_?” Hermione snaps her book shut to look at him.

Everyone looks at her.

“Yes?” Harry asks. “How do you know they dated?”

“How did you _not_?” She demands. “You stalked him for the last two years-” His friends snicker, and Harry sends them a glare. “And Malfoy literally became a walking corpse?”

“He showed up with new bruises every weekend.” Luna confirms sadly.

“How do you _know_ that?” Harry asks, bewildered. Was everyone else aware of this but him? He didn’t even know Riddle hit Draco from their conversation yesterday!

“They’re literally cousins, Harry!” Ginny points out.

“We used to go to Artem Libertas every Saturday morning before Tom decided he didn’t like me after I told Draco to dump him.” Luna says airily. “I’ll ask him if he wants to do that again. I think he’s too embarrassed to do it himself.”

Artem Libertas is Luna’s kind of place. Harry never imagined it’d be Draco’s.

It’s in Bellealto, a wizarding town near Hogwarts – though in the opposite direction of Hogsmeade – and it’s… well, it’s pretty, but, in Harry’s opinion, kind of boring. It has tons of trees and flowers, animals walking around, shops and weird classes outdoors.

Artem Libertas is an art shop where you can stay to paint, and Harry only knows because he’d once accompanied his mom to Bellealto when he was smaller for a special kind of paint she wanted, and had never gone again. It was all too quiet, too peaceful for him even as a child.

“It makes sense.” Hermione says. “He probably thinks you think he’d choose a boyfriend over you.”

“He kind of did.” Ron points out, and Hermione rolls her eyes at her boyfriend.

“It’s not like he had any _real_ choice though, was it?” Ginny points out. “Not with Riddle beating him if he dared think for himself.”

Ron looks vaguely ashamed.

“So what happened, then?” Seamus asks curiously.

“I walked him back to the castle. I think he trusts me better now.” In the halls, Draco’d given him uncertain, small smiles anytime they caught each other’s eyes.

“Are you still going to go on with the bet?” Ginny asks, frowning. “It’s really cruel, Harry. Especially this close after Riddle.”

Neville waves a hand. “It’s not like he’ll manage it anyway, yeah?”

Harry flips him off, and addresses Ginny.

“Merlin, Gin, it’s not like I’m hitting him or anything, yeah? I won’t do anything he doesn’t want to.” He points out. “And he probably won’t even care. He doesn’t like me anyway, why would he care I’m not into him?”

It feels weird to say that. He felt odd, last night, like it wasn’t _just_ the bet that had made him walk Draco back to the castle. Still, when he’d said ‘ _I care about you_ ’ it had been a lie. Mostly.

“So what he wants it?” Ginny asks, and Harry can see her temper rising. “Maybe he doesn’t care you’re not into him _right now,_ and maybe he wouldn’t care if it was just shagging."

Hermione nods, and she takes over. Harry wonders if they’ve rehearsed this.

“You’re making him believe you want to _date_ him. It’s a completely different situation, Harry.” She says.

Seamus grins. “You can always back out, mate. We’ve potions first thing tomorrow, it won’t even take that long for Snape to give you year-long detention.”

Harry glares. “I’m not backing out.”

Hermione huffs a bit, and Ginny glares, but before they can speak, Luna speaks softly.

“He’s not the only one who’ll end up hurt, Harry.” She says, causing him to frown.

What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? Harry’s not going to get hurt. That’d imply having feelings for Draco, which he definitely doesn’t.

Still, he feels a bit guilty, if only because Luna really is his friend, as well as Ginny and Hermione, and he doesn’t want to make them angry.

“Look,” He says. “He doesn’t even have to find out about the bet, alright? After I shag him I’ll wait a few weeks and then I’ll break up with him, he’ll make my life a living hell – even more than before – and we’ll be even. Okay?”

That doesn’t seem to appease Hermione nor Ginny very much, but Luna merely shrugs.

“You’re going to regret this.” She tells him.

Coming from anyone else, Harry’d interpret it as a threat, but coming from Luna it’s more like a prediction. She nearly always gets those right.

“You’re wrong this time, Luna.” He says, if only to shake away the uncertain feeling he has. “I won’t regret it.”

Luna doesn’t respond.

The rest of the meal goes by in a rush, and, after he’s done, Harry tries to study for a few hours to keep Hermione content, and then heads over to the Quidditch Pitch, hoping to get some flying in before it’s dark. The quidditch season begins next week, but since he has his own broom he can go out whenever he likes

“Oh.” He blinks, when he finds someone already in the quidditch pitch. “Zabini.”

Zabini looks up at him. He has his broom in one hand, and he’s sweaty and dirty, so Harry assumes he’s already gone flying. He’s as distractingly attractive as ever, Harry admits begrudgingly.

“Potter,” he nods curtly. He continues walking, as if to leave, but in the last second, he turns around. “What’s your plan?”

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, frowning momentarily.

“Your plan.” Zabini repeats. He seems cautious, and suspicious, and even a little bit angry. “With Draco.”

Oh. _Oh_.

“I’m trying to date him.” He says.

“Bullshit.”

Zabini’s glaring at him openly, completely unlike the Slytherin underhandedness Harry knows.

“Why?” He asks.

“You’ve hated Draco ever since you met him.” Zabini says.

Harry gives half a shrug. “I used to. I don’t anymore.”

The fact that Harry’s not certain if he’s telling a lie or not makes him uneasy.

“Are we supposed to believe that?” Zabini asks in a mocking tone, and Harry’s eyes narrow.

“Draco does,” He says, cocking an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

Zabini’s just as tall as Harry is, and, without noticing, they’ve gotten closer to each other, so close Harry could very well punch him right now.

“He’s not an idiot.” Zabini says. “And were he not stupidly blinded by you-” he huffs and cuts himself off. “If you’re up to something – which, for the record, I think you are – Pans and I will figure it out.”

“Is that a threat?” Harry asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Only if you’re up to something.” Zabini shrugs. He gives an easy smile. “Which you’ve assured me you aren’t, so you have nothing to be nervous about, right Potter?”

Harry’s eyes narrow.

“Are you jealous?” He asks. “Is _that_ it? He hasn’t let you into his pants so you want to scare me away?”

Zabini’s laugh is more genuine than Harry expected, and he gives him an incredulous look.

“I’m not jealous, Potter.” He says, smirk in place. “I _do_ care about my friend, though, so don’t fucking hurt him. And if you think you’re going to get into Draco’s pants you’re infinitely more idiotic than I already thought you were.”

Harry wants to punch him, but he doesn’t think that’ll get him into a very good place with Draco, so he merely grits his teeth. Fucking Slytherins and their riddles.

“That’s not what this is about,” he says, even if it totally is. He forces himself to relax. “I do want to date Draco. I’m not trying to hurt him.”

“We’ll see.” Zabini says. He turns around and begins walking away. “Don’t make him regret giving you a chance, Potter. And don’t mess it up. He doesn’t give second chances. Not even to you.”

And he leaves.

_Not even to you_? Harry groans, frustrated, and kicks the wooden wall of the quidditch pitch, which does nothing but make his foot sore.

He looks at the sky, longing for his fly, and, in the last second, changes his mind. He goes to leave his broom in the broom shed and takes the Marauders’ Map out of his pocket – he always carries it with him – and searches for Draco’s name.

Him, Ron, and Hermione have extended the map to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, which is how he knew where Draco was the night before.

He finds the little spot signaled _Draco Malfoy_ near the Black Lake, and he makes a quick plan.

Draco’s so immersed in a book that when Harry sits beside him he jumps, looking up at the sound.

“Oh,” he blinks. “Potter.”

“I think you should start calling me Harry,” Harry suggests. “Since we’re dating and all.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth lifts upwards in a reluctant smile, and his cheeks darken slightly.

“Are we?” he asks. “We’ve gone on one date.”

“Consider this our second one,” Harry says. He waves his wand, unpacking what he’s brought – he had a quick stop in the kitchens – and Draco’s mouth drops. He lifts an eyebrow.

“A picnic?” He asks, going for bored and missing it by a mile. He sounds… oddly happy. Dreamy, almost.

  _Be careful_ , Hermione echoes in his head. _It’s not just you. You’ll hurt him._

“Yeah,” Harry answers. He stretches the blanket – ruby and gold – and levitates Draco on top of it, making the blond squeak and laugh in a way Harry’s never seen him before.

When Draco notices him staring, his cheeks turn scarlet, and he looks away.

“A painting would last longer.” He says, but he’s mumbling and he looks awfully uncertain.

Harry grins. “You look good when you laugh.”

“I look good always.” Draco shoots back, almost automatically. Then his blush spreads down his neck and shoulders when he processes what Harry’s said, causing his grin to stretch.

“True.” Harry muses. “And you look adorable when you’re blushing.”

“Merlin, shut the fuck up, Potter!” he hisses, rolling his eyes. “Are you always this much of a sap?”

“Only to people I’m into,” Harry says, and Draco huffs, seemingly irritated, but there’s a small smile in his face. “What do you want? We have roast beef, chips, there’s tea-”

“Is there ice cream?” Draco asks eagerly, and Harry laughs.

“Sure.” He says. “I brought marshmallow fluff since I don’t know what other flavor you like.”

Draco pours a lot of ice cream into a bowl, and shrugs, digging the spoon in happily.

“You mostly can’t go wrong with ice cream. I love marshmallow fluff, and I once tried one called Tonight Dough? Night thought? I don’t know. My dad brought it once when he made a trip to the muggle world. I’ve never had it again.” He sounds so ridiculously sad Harry wants to laugh.

“What’s your deal with ice cream?” He asks, instead. “Why do you love it so much?”

Draco looks at him like he’s ridiculous. “Who the fuck doesn’t?”

Harry does laugh this time.

“No one,” he reassures. “No one I know, at least, but like… we’ve _magic_. Honeydukes has every single flavor there is in _anything_. And ice cream’s just… ice cream.”

Draco hums, and he only hesitates a second before answering. Harry begins eating his chips.

“My father died the summer I was about four, right?” he says. This is going a completely different way from what Harry was expecting. “My mom was… well, she was grieving. She barely came out of her room, and I rarely saw her at all the first three or four months. My aunt Andromeda, well, she wanted to help, but she had a job, things to do. My cousin, she was eleven at the time, but she was home for summer. She didn’t know how to cook, my mom had gotten rid of all the elves when my father died, Andromeda was too busy trying to get my her out of bed. Bubblegum – Tonks – was the only one who spent any time with me at all. We lived on ice cream for three months straight.”

A lot of things make more sense now. Harry’s Teddy’s godfather, but Draco is, too, he knows. Tonks picked him instead of a godmother, and Harry hadn’t known why at the time – he hadn’t known they were fond of each other, but he’s slowly realizing there are a lot more things to Draco Malfoy than he thought.

“I’m sorry,” he says. _For my ignorance_. _For assuming what I knew about you was all there was._

Draco shrugs, misunderstanding. “I barely remember him at all.” He turns an speculative gaze on Harry. “What about you and Treacle Tart?”

Harry laughs a bit. He shrugs. “Nothing, I guess. My dad’s Arab, and he’s an spectacular cook. Getting used to spices and all, everything from here tastes like nothing at all, and I hated my mom’s cooking when I was younger. Whenever my dad went on a trip, we’d go out to the grocery store and buy one of those _huge_ treacle tarts and eat it for as long as it lasted. It was the only thing she could convince me to eat when we were younger.”

They don’t do it as often anymore, as James caught them once and now leaves them pre-prepped food when he goes on trips for his job as a Quidditch Coach for the Wimbourne Wasps.

Draco smiles lightly. “It sounds nice. My dad used to take me with him before Hogwarts in all of his political meetings.” He snorts. “I was nine and sitting on rich wizard’s carriages and yachts listening to them talk about treaties with Muggle politicians and unemployment rates.”

Harry snorts.

“No wonder you’re so proper.” He says.

“I’m not proper!” Draco protests, and Harry laughs.

“Sure, princess,” he says. Draco’s cheeks match the color of the blanket, and Harry’s eyes light up mirthfully at the reaction.

“I curse!” he says.

“Yes.” He nods. “You say fuck, and shit, and that’s it, pretty much.”

“So?” He asks. “So do you!”

“Well, yeah.” He says. “But you’re always neat, and elegant, and polite. You know what to wear and which fork to use… you’re practically a politician already.”

Draco glares at him weakly. “It’s called having _manners_ , Potter.”

Harry laughs and leans in. Draco stiffens, and relaxes slightly after Harry rubs their noses together.

Slowly, Harry kisses him, and when Draco’s hands come to grip at his shoulder he thinks he’s going to push him away, but he doesn’t. He pulls Harry closer.

Harry isn’t much of a kisser, if he’s honest. He enjoys sleeping with people, but kisses have never been especially important for him. The only times he’d bothered with it were with the people he dated before the summer before sixth year – when he lost his virginity to Ginny, while they were still dating. After they broke up, Harry hadn’t really bothered to find anyone else he wanted to properly date.

Draco kisses sweetly, slowly, almost shily, and Harry’s wants more, he wants _everything_.

He cups Draco’s face, and the blond moves closer to him, somehow getting on his knees without breaking the kiss, and Harry helps him straddle his lap.

This is… different than Harry expected. He expected it to be a chore, to be boring and irritating, but, at least for now, it’s perfectly comfortable. Draco’s practically melting in his lap and Harry’s more turned on that he has been in a long time.

_It’s just because he’s in your lap_ , he reasons to himself. _It doesn’t matter that he’s_ Malfoy. _It’s automatic. You don’t like him._

“Mr. Malfoy.” Draco practically jumps away from Harry, flushing redder than a fucking tomato at McGonagall’s disapproving look. “Mr. Potter. If you’d please have consideration to the younger students.”

Harry looks around, realizes they’re not as alone as he thought they were; Hermione’s nose is wrinkled, as is Ron’s, and Neville’s cheeks are flushed. Seamus and Dean are snickering, and Blaise Zabini’s smirking slightly. There are also a few younger students’ who’re giggling and whispering between them.

“Sorry professor.” Harry grins.

McGonagall sends him a stern look, and Harry does his best to look abashed, but he doubts he manages it. He’s feeling completely too satisfied with himself right then.

Professor McGonagall sends a stern look towards Draco – who’s still blushing, even if slightly less now – and she leaves.

Harry begins to open his mouth. He wants to say something - continue their date, maybe invite Draco up to his room, but as soon as he looks at the blond, he interrupts him.

“Good Night, Potter,” Draco says quickly, and flees.

Harry groans, frustrated, and drops back on the blanket.


	6. The first Fight

“People keep asking me if I’ve slept with you yet,” Draco’s statement sends Harry into a coughing fit.

It’s been almost three weeks since their snogging session by the lake – they’re in the beginning of October now – and Harry’s been more aroused in this past few weeks than he’s been in the last two years. Of course, that probably has to do with the fact that, before now, whenever he felt aroused there was always someone perfectly willing to blow him or let him fuck them, and though that hasn’t changed, Harry’s been waiting to get specifically into Draco’s pants, so he can’t very well do that right now.

And Harry was right; Draco’s irritatingly proper. He won’t go up to Harry’s dorm room at all – not even for studying – and he insists snogging in public is, in his words, ‘ _beyond uncouth’_ , which’s lead to the Quidditch Pitch becoming their place: the bleachers are practically deserted when there’s no game going on, which allows more privacy than most other places in the castle or its grounds.

“What?” he asks, finally, when he can breathe again.

Draco’s not looking at him. His eyes are scanning the Quidditch Pitch quickly, and his mouth twists the way it does when he’s nervous.

“Yeah.” He says. He risks a brief glance at Harry, then goes back to staring at the Pitch. “I’ve had sixth year Hufflepuffs come ask me about how good you are. _Hufflepuffs_ , Harry.”

Harry snorts, unable to help himself. He wraps an arm around Draco’s waist and pulls him closer, kissing the top of his head.

“Sorry,” he says, even though he isn’t. “What’d you tell them?”

Harry feels Draco’s cheeks heat even across his jumper, against his chest where Draco’s face is buried.

“Nothing!” he says. “What would I even say? It’s not like I’d _know,_ and even if I _did_ , it’s not like I’d go ranting about it to Sixth years!”

“You would,” Harry assures. “I’m that good.”

Draco snorts and digs his bony elbow into Harry’s side, making him yelp through his grin.

“You’re an arse,” He mutters, and Draco grins cheekily.

“You like me despite it.” He says confidently.

“Hmm, I do,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Draco’s lips.

Somewhere in the last few weeks, his lies have turned into only half lies, and he’s beginning to get worried that he might be getting too deep into this.

_He’s not the only one who’ll end up hurt, Harry_.

“We’re in public.” Draco murmurs when they break away, but he doesn’t push Harry away.

“I don’t care,” Harry says, and he kisses Draco again.

The blond allows it for a few minutes, but, too soon, he pulls away, cheeks red.

“What’re you doing for Halloween?” Harry asks.

“What?” Draco’s voice is pleasingly breathy, and Harry enjoys being the cause this kind of reaction in him.

“Halloween.” Harry grins. “Gryffindor’s throwing a party. Secret party. I want you to come.”

Draco hums, frowning calculatingly.

“To a Gryffindor party? With Gryffindors?” he asks, lips twisting.

“Yes, that’s what it would entail, generally.” Harry laughs. “Everyone’s invited. Slytherins, too.”

“I don’t know,” Draco says uneasily.

“Please?” Harry says, ducking his head running his lips down Draco’s jaw, enjoying the slight tremble he gets in response. “I know you don’t like Ron, but I really think Hermione and you could get along.”

He grins before continuing.

“Plus, it’s not like you’d have to be with them. We could find something way more fun to do.”

Draco pushes Harry away even though he’s grinning.

“Like?” he asks. “The cinema?”

Harry fights back the urge to groan. No matter how many innuendos or suggestions he makes, the blonde doesn’t seem to get them. He’s been wondering lately if Draco’s a virgin, because he’s pretty sure the only way he can be more obvious is if he right up says ‘Hi, want to have sex?’.

“Or something else,” he says, smiling at the kiss Draco drops on his chin. “Like, say, going up to my dorm?”

Draco makes a non-comital sound. “It’s not like being in a dorm is fun, Potter.”

Harry does groan now, but Draco interprets it as being from the soft kiss he pressed to his collarbone.

“And do we have to dress up?” He asks. “I can invite Pansy and Blaise, right?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry says. “And yeah, you have to dress up.”

Draco scowls. “No corny couple costumes.”’

Harry laughs. “Fine, fine. You’ll come, then?”

“Sure. What I do for you,” He sighs dramatically, as if it’s some huge effort.

Harry snorts.

“Let me make it up to you, then.” He says.

Draco moans when Harry sucks lightly at his jaw.

“You better,” he sighs.

He straddles Harry’s lap – as he often does, since on his knees with Harry sitting down is the only way he can reach Harry’s face – and deepens the kiss. It lasts less than Harry’d like it to.

“We should go to class.” he says, chewing on his lower lip and eyeing the castle. It’s their free period, and they’ve only one class left before lunch.

“Or we could skip,” Harry says, even though he already knows the answer.

Draco’s just as bad at Hermione when it comes to taking classes seriously, even if the subject he’s got is irrelevant or incredibly boring.

“No,” Draco says sternly. “You already convinced me to skip History of magic the other day,” Harry smiles, remembering the amazing snogging session that’d allowed, and Draco rolls his eyes and smacks him on the shoulder, color rising on his face. “I’m going to Ancient Runes. And you’ve already skipped Divination this week, you should go.”

“Divination’s crap.” He mutters, and Draco laughs warmly, making Harry all fuzzy and calm inside. _Merlin, get a grip_ , he thinks at himself.

“It is,” Draco confirms. “You shouldn’t have picked it for the second year in a row.”

“Third,” Harry corrects, as if it’s somehow important. “It’s better than Ancient Runes, anyway.”

Draco lifts a shoulder. They hold hands while they walk back to the castle. “The professor’s gone to have her baby, and the substitute doesn’t make us do anything.”

“Lucky bastard,” Harry pouts, and Draco laughs.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s just an hour before lunch, yeah? You can make it.”

They reach the steps before Draco’s classroom, and he goes up three of them before Harry grabs his waist and pulls him towards him, nearly making him stumble. He gives him a slow, filthy kiss that leaves Draco’s cheeks scarlet when he pulls away, eyes hazy and disoriented as Harry grins.

“Enjoy your class, babe,” he says cheerily, and walks away.

“You’re a bastard, Harry Potter!” Draco yells after him.

“Never tried to pretend otherwise!”

He hears Draco laugh.

After Divination - where Trelawny predicts that Harry needs to 'admit his feelings to himself and to others' and that he'll possibly die soon, - and Lunch, he meets Draco in the Library to study – or that’s the excuse they use. Most of it consists of Harry staring at Draco in what he thinks is a ‘discreet’ manner (it’s really not) and Draco trying to study (he rarely manages it) and ending up tracing the skin of Harry’s palm with his fingers.

They usually end up snogging in these sessions.

Harry wouldn't complain if it happened now. It could possibbly improve his rotten mood.

“Hey Harry,” Draco asks, voice hesitant.

Harry hums to signal he’s listening.

“Do you mind if I ask something?”

“About what?”

“Just – your past relationships, I guess.”

Harry frowns.

“What about them?” he asks.

“It’s just.” Draco chews on his lower lip. “Why me? I mean, you’ve dated Ginevra Weasley, I know that, but then you… didn’t. And now…”

He waves a hand between them.

Harry turns to look at him, shrugging a shoulder uneasily.

“I like you.” He says.  

“You’ve said so.”

It doesn’t sound skeptic, but Harry’s spine still stiffens, everything in him taking a defensive stance.

“And you don’t believe me?” he asks.

“I do.” Draco says. “It’s just – I mean – you _hated_ me. For _years_. Why ask me out?”

“It’s not like it was a one way, feeling, okay?” Harry says, closing the book in front of him. Draco eyes it warily, like this has turned more serious than he was ready for it to. “You hated me, too.”

“I didn’t – I just – that’s not what I asked.”

A muscle moves in Harry’s jaw – he doesn’t know why he’s so angry, except he does: in the last two of these four weeks they’ve been dating he’s been able to pretend that this isn’t just because of some stupid bet, that it’s just something he wants.

It’s been getting harder and harder to tell what he wants with Draco. He doesn’t dislike him anymore, and every time he tells him about wanting him or liking him it’s been feeling less and less like a lie and more and more like something Harry didn’t know about himself.

“Merlin, Draco, does it matter?” He asks, rolling his eyes.

They’ve never argued before, so this is increasingly uncomfortable. At least until he sees the familiar Slytherin cunning in Draco’s eyes and the blond clenches his jaw the way he used to when they hated each other.

“It’s a simple question.” He says.

“I don’t know!” Harry says, patience wearing thin. People are looking over from other tables as their voices rise. “Is that what you wanted to hear? I don’t know why I asked you out, I just did. I haven’t heard you complaining.”

“Merlin, of course I’m not complaining!” Draco snaps. “It was just a question, Potter!”

“Really? Because it feels like you don’t trust me.”

“Merlin, that’s not it! I just wanted to know, and I didn’t think it was important, but now it feels like you’re hiding something from me!”

“ _I’m_ hiding things from _you_?” Harry’s laugh is hollow.

Draco’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he looks up at Harry.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” He asks, voice tight.

“Nothing.” Harry says, clenching his jaw before this goes on further.

“No, Potter, do tell me, please.” Draco says. “Because there’s _obviously_ something I’m hiding from you, isn’t there? Is that what this is about? Some imaginary secrets I’m hiding?”

“That’s what you say _I’m_ doing!” Harry snaps. They’re standing up now, and Harry’s neck hurts from where he’s looking down at Draco, but he refuses to look away first. “Why would it even matter why I asked you out?”

“Because – because people don’t ask people out just like that! Especially if they hated them!”

“If it bothered you so much why did you even say yes?” Harry demands. “It’s not like I forced you to do anything!”

Draco’s face pales, and his chin trembles as he speaks.

“I know – I _know_ that, Harry.” He says. “I didn’t mean to imply – I wasn’t saying-”

“Then what? What’s wrong? What is it that’s bothering you so fucking much about this?”

“I don’t _know_! Fuck, Potter, I have no fucking idea why I even asked _anything_ at all. Forgive me for being so fucking unreasonable.”

And, before Harry can even respond, he snaps his books shut and walks out of the library.


	7. Charlie Williams

“Fuck,” Draco hears Harry say. He walks faster, ignoring Madam Pince’s glare and the curious looks several students are giving them. “Fuck, Draco, wait!”

He catches up with him, grabbing Draco’s arm, and the blond flinches and freezes for a split second.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Potter.” He says, praying he won’t hear his voice trembling, and then disappears down the hall.

Harry doesn’t follow him.

When he gets to his dorm, he slams the door shut so hard the windows – leading to the lake – shake, and Theodore Nott, the only boy currently in their dorm, looks up from his book with a raised eyebrow.

 _Something bothering you, Blondie?_ He signs, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

He’s deaf, and, originally, professors thought it might be a bit of a problem for him since it’s harder to cast wandless, but he’s nothing if not resourceful. In the few times Draco’s up during the night he watches Theo practice spells over and over and over again until he can do them flawlessly.

“No,” Draco huffs, dropping himself down on his bed.

Theo snorts and rolls his eyes.

He has mussed dark hair, shaved at the sides, and blue eyes. His cheekbones are sharp, and so are his collarbones, and he could have anyone he wanted in his bed with a snap of his fingers. He’s asexual, though, so he mostly spends his time reading and going to places (often to a muggle dancing academy) or doing things (often animal-petting related) with Sara Oliveira-Milan, who’s been his best friend since they met.

He’s kind, and patient, and funny, and also a Slytherin if there ever was one. Wicked cunning, aggressively smart, cruelly determined. He’s the kind of person that’s good to have with you but dooming to have against you.

 _Something happen with Potter?_ He questions.

“Why would you ask that?”

Theo cocks an eyebrow. _You told me you were going to study with him and now you’re slamming the door, so it’s not very hard to put together._

“Oh.” Draco says, feeling dumb. “We… argued, I guess.”

 _You guess?_ Theo’s obviously amused, and Draco scowls at him.

“I just – it was stupid.”

And Merlin, it really was, wasn’t it? Draco didn’t even want to know that badly, he was just wondering. He’d never meant to make Harry feel trapped, or angry.

Theo rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to sign anything more than, _Come on_.

He stands up and leaves his book on the bed, and Draco lifts an eyebrow. Theo rolls his eyes again and gestures for him to follow him.

Draco does, and Theo walks him to the kitchens.

“Mr. Nott,” A House elf says. “What is you needing?”

“Hello, Fizzy,” Theo says warmly. He sounds a bit odd, but he’s not mute. He signs much more often than he speaks, and they’ve never been close enough that Draco feels comfortable with asking him why. “Can we get ice cream?”

Fizzy nods quickly and walks away to retrieve it. When Theo sees Draco’s wide eyes, he grins.

 _Sara’s very nice to them, and she started bringing me here. They like us, so they do us favors sometimes,_ He admits.

He signs Sara’s name by running a knuckle through his mouth, as if drawing a smile. It’s his nickname for Sara, just like _Blondie_ (which he signs by pulling at a strand of his hair) is his nickname for Draco.

Before he can respond, Fizzy arrives with two huge cups of ice cream with spoons in them. They thank her and go back to the dorm.

 _So,_ Theo signs, plopping down on his bed. He waves his wand and his books stack themselves on his nightstand neatly. He waves it again, and his spoon picks up some ice cream and feeds it to him, so he can have his hands free. _Potter._

Draco nods, putting a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. It’s chocolate with brownie chunks, and it’s pure bliss in his mouth.

“I asked why he asked me out.” he says. “And he got angry.”

Theo frowns, and the spoon comes out of his mouth for more ice cream. _Why?_

“Said I don’t trust him.” He says. “And that I’m hiding things from him, not the other way around.”

 _Are you?_ Theo asks, and Draco scowls at him. _What? You can tell me. What’s said over cups of ice cream doesn’t leave anyone’s mouth. It’s basic. It’s sacred._

Draco snorts.

“I’m not hiding anything from him.” He says. Then he thinks it over. “Not properly, anyway. I mean, he doesn’t know everything about me, but it’s not like he needs to, yeah?”

Theo shrugs. _Maybe he feels like you’re not telling him things, ad it matters to him, even if it doesn’t matter to you._

“Maybe.” Draco agrees, feeling uncertain all of a sudden.

Should he tell Harry more things? He’s been reasonably open, he thinks. It’s not like he’s shared his life story, but Harry doesn’t need that, and he probably doesn’t want it either.

“Hey Theo,” he says, frowning. Theo hums, and Draco continues. “Of the people you’ve dated… has anyone broken up with you for being ace?”

 _Why’d you want to know?_ Theo asks, curiously.

“I just – I’m not sure… Harry’s has some experience. Sexually.”

Theo snorts.

 _That’s an understatement._ He says, and Draco gives him a weak glare.

“I don’t know if that’s what he’s expecting of me. I’m not ace. I want to have sex with him, I do. Just not right now. And I don’t know when I’ll be ready for it, you know?”

Theo gives him a shrug. _Some people have,_ he admits. _But, look, sex is not a human need. It’s a personal choice. If he wants to make that choice, even if it means it can’t be with you, then you have to accept that. But it’s the other way around, too. He has to respect your decision, and if he thinks it’s ‘unreasonable’ or ‘stupid’, then fuck him._ He gives a lopsided smile. _Not literally, obviously._

Draco snorts, but he feels slightly reassured.

 _You know what you need, blondie? To get drunk. And to go dancing._ Theo’s filthy grin has always made Draco end up shit-faced in the dumbest but funniest situations, which is why they don’t hang out much.

“I don’t really go to clubs anymore.” He tells him. “Tom…”

Theo grimaces and waves it away. _He can fucking blow me if he thinks he’s going to keep you from having fun. Get dressed, we’re going out._

“To _where_?” Draco asks warily as Theo stands up and begins to look through his wardrobe. He peeks his head out, and his grin is back.

_The Muggle world, blondie._

Draco grimaces.

Theo loves clubs because they’re one of the few places where music’s loud enough that he can feel it through the floor.

Sara Oliveira-Milan doesn’t go with them. When they go ask her she looks like shit and very clearly wants them to leave as soon as they possibly can, so they do.

They go to a club called Rabbit, and use a Confundus on the guard (which is technically illegal) to get in. Theo, who’s like Blaise in the way that he enjoys flirting immensely, even if he doesn’t do anything about it afterwards, immediately finds someone to dance with, and Draco goes to sit by the bar, a bit nervous.

 _It’s Muggle_ , he tells himself soothingly, _Tom will never find you here_.

It’s true; Tom Riddle hates muggles more than he hates Draco’s dad, which is a hard line to pass for him – though Draco suspects Harry might’ve, the other night – so he’d never step anywhere near a place like this. Or at least Draco hopes so.

“Want me to buy you something?” a voice to his left asks, and it takes Draco a second to realize the man’s talking to him.

He’s reasonably handsome; tall, fair skin covered in freckles, ginger hair pulled back in a bun at the top of his head. He has a beard, too, and he’s so obviously handsome Draco’s nearly blinded when he smiles. He’s taller than him – though that’s not very hard – and wider, too, muscles thick underneath his t-shirt.

“I’ve a boyfriend.” Draco says automatically.

The man grins. He looks about twenty-five or twenty-six. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’m not interested in that kind of thing.”

At Draco’s questioning look, he grins and continues.

“My friends dragged me here.” He says. “And they gave me money, so…” he waves a wad of cash at Draco’s face. “Want to help me make them regret it?”

Draco grins, and the man orders tequila for both of them. He’s never tried it before, and he’s never seen those small glasses either, but they look clean enough, and the drink burns as it goes down his throat, strangely satisfying.

“Draco.” He says. He hesitates, and then… “Middleton.”

The only reason he says it it’s because it’s the only muggle last name he knows, and he doesn’t remember from where.

“Like Kate,” the man grins, and Draco nods, even if he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “My name’s Charlie. Williams.”

Draco smiles as Charlie orders them both tequila again.

“Cool tattoos,” He says, nodding at the guy’s uncovered forearm. By the looks of it, he has a full sleeve, with roses, and animals, and a crown.

Charlie laughs. “You should see the rest of my body. I’ve cooler ones.”

Draco’s cheeks heat, and he swallows the small dose of tequila quickly, blinking, stunned, when Charlie orders them another.

He shouldn’t get drunk, he knows, but right now, he honestly couldn’t care less.

He downs two more of the little glasses before he speaks.

“What do you work in?” he asks.

Charlie shrugs. “Animal handling. Reptiles, often.”

“Snakes and stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“I like snakes.” Draco says thoughtfully.

Charlie laughs. “I’m more of a lion man myself. Fucking love dragons, though.”

Draco’s brow furrows.

“Komodo Dragons.” Charlie amends. “They’re the closest thing we’ve seen to real Dragons, right?”

“Are you _asking_?” Draco asks with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t know what Komodo Dragons are, and he didn’t think muggles had anything even _close_ to Dragons, but apparently he’s wrong.

Charlie orders them another glass of tequila, and Draco drinks it, and then he orders them whisky.

“We should slow down,” he says. Draco feels odd. Should he have drunk less? He doesn’t know how to drink tequila, and nothing he’s had in the magical world is downed in little glasses instead of tumblers or glasses.

“Yeah,” he agrees, a bit slowly.

“Tell me about this boyfriend of yours, then. Is he here?” Charlie asks.

Draco shrugs a bit. “No. We had a fight.”

And Merlin, he sounds like right a child, doesn’t he? Whining to a stranger about his problems.

“Was it serious?” Charlie asks.

“Not really.”

Or at least he hopes it wasn’t. He doesn’t want Harry to break up with him, and he doesn’t want to break up with Harry.

“Why aren’t you working it out with him?” Charlie’s brow is furrowed.

Draco lifts a shoulder. “I’m very stubborn. So is he. I don’t think it’d go well.”

“What’s his name?” He asks.

“Harry Potter.” Draco shrugs. Something like recognition flashes across Charlie’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. “We’re fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Charlie smiles a bit. “Do you want to dance?”

Draco cocks an eyebrow, and Charlie laughs.

“No ulterior motives, I promise.” He says.

Draco agrees, and, together, they go dance.

Draco looses himself in the music, drinks what Charlie buys him – Merlin how he’d _missed_ this – and, true to his word, Charlie doesn’t attempt to kiss him, nor coax him into a quickie in the loo.

By the time Draco’s ready to leave – he needs to find Theo, but he steps outside first, desperate for fresh air – he’s drunk as fuck, and he doesn’t know how he’ll make it back to Hogwarts.

“Are you okay?” Charlie seems amused. “Should I call someone?”

Draco’d say yes, except he doesn’t have a muggle cellphone, and he can’t very well tell Charlie to Patronus Theo, and he can’t produce a Patronus, so he can’t do it either.

“I’m fine.” He slurs. “I’ll just – I’ll go find my friend.”

Except he can’t really walk straight, so Charlie has to catch him before he stumbles. He says something that Draco can’t understand, and, the last thing he sees before he passes out is Charlie, grabbing a wand out of his coat pocket.


	8. Ignorance is Bliss

When he wakes, presumably the next morning, Draco’s headache is so bad he’s actually wondering if he’s dying. He’s not planning to open his eyes – ever, if he can help it – but he hears a door open.

His eyes snap open, squinting painfully at the light.

“Morning.” Charlie’s evidently amused.

He’s fresh out of the shower, wet hair hanging loose around his shoulders. His beard’s neatly trimmed, and he’s wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. There’s a two-headed dragon peering at Draco from his chest – his _deliciously_ sculpted chest – its neck reaching across his shoulders, its body presumably on his back.

It loses interest in Draco quickly, and goes to rest on the small of Charlie’s back to sleep.

“What – you – it-” His eyes narrow, partly because of the pounding in his head. “You’re a _wizard_!”

Charlie – if that’s even his name – merely smirks and cocks an eyebrow. Draco looks around. The hotel room’s gorgeous. The windows are wide and the bed’s huge and _oh so comfortable_ that Draco wishes he could stay there forever.

“Where am I?” he goes to his left sleeve, where his wand always is, and is panicked to find that it’s not there. “Did we – did you-”

Charlie snorts, waves his wand, and Draco’s wand flies from under the bed to Draco’s hand. He wraps his hand around it tightly.

“No.” he says. “We didn’t.”

“Shit.” Draco looks at the sky outside. The sun’s shining bright, and that means… “ _Shit_. Theo – Hogwarts-”

“I sent a Patronus to Remus.” He says.

“You _told on me_?” Draco demands, disbelieving.

Charlie looks at him skeptically. “Would you rather I’d told McGonagall?”

Draco’d rather he hadn’t told anyone, but Charlie did just take care of him for the night, so he’s not about to get himself kicked out.

“Is Charlie even your real name?” He asks.

“It is. Charlie Weasley, pleasure.”

Draco narrows his eyes, mouth gaping. “ _Weasley_? As in _Ronald Weasley_?”

“He’s my youngest brother.” Charlie nods. The corner of his lips quirk. “I’ve heard about you.”

Draco’s cheeks heat, and his eyes catch sight of a thick scar down Charlie’s hipbone. He looks away, swallowing.

“Will you put something on?” He asks. “It’s – we’re not… It’s impolite.”

Charlie smirks, but Draco can hear him getting dressed, and when he looks at him again, he’s wearing jeans and a dark red shirt.

“Come on,” he says, pulling his hair up in a bun. “I’m taking you back to Hogwarts. We can stop for breakfast on the way.”

“We can’t!” He says. “McGonagall might just expel me anyway, I don’t need to stop for breakfast!”

Charlie snorts and shakes his head. “At least shower then, dragon. I doubt reeking of muggle alcohol will help your case.”

Draco does, and afterwards, Charlie lends him clothes – they’re too big on him, but he’s grateful for anything clean – and does end up taking him out to breakfast, despite Draco’s protests.

When they’re back at Hogwarts, McGonagall looks like she’s actually considering _killing_ Draco herself, if his parents don’t get to him first.

“ _Never in my life,_ Mr. Malfoy.” Her lips are pursed so tight they’re white, and her whole face is pinched in a way that makes her ten times scarier than she usually is. “ _Never_ in my _life_ have I seen such _irresponsible_ , thick-headed, repugnantly stupid behavior as you displayed last night.”

Mr. Lupin is standing behind her with his arms crossed, as is Snape, and, surprisingly, Charlie. Lupin looks disapproving, Snape looks disgusted – Draco’s not too worried, if he’s honest, since he’s rarely looked at Draco with any other expression than that since he came out as gay – and Charlie looks amused but trying to cover it up with a disapproving frown.

“ _Sneaking out_?” she demands. “We give seventh years their fair share of liberties, and you should know that going to the _muggle_ world is not one of them! Of all people, I thought you’d be more responsible than that!”

Draco looks down, ashamed. As terrified as he is that he’ll be expelled – it’s not a very likely possibility, almost no one gets spelled, but still – he’s oddly fond of the Headmistress, and he wants her to be proud of him.

“I’m sorry.” He says. He doesn’t like how small his voice sounds.

“You should be.” McGonagall says harshly. She takes a deep breath, and though her voice loses none of its sternness, her eyes soften. “Detention. For the rest of the year.”

Draco nods, shoulders relaxing slightly.

“With Mr. Weasley.” She continues.

“What?” Draco looks up with a sneer. “ _Ronald Weasley_? What could I possibly be doing-”

“Mr. _Charles_ Weasley.” McGonagall says pointedly. “I believe you’ve met?”

“What?” Draco asks again, much less bite and more confusion this time. “He doesn’t teach here.”

“He will be.” McGonagall says. “Care of Magical Creatures. Since this Monday.”

“But Hagrid-” Draco begins.

“Hagrid’s still the appointed teacher. He, however, had the fantastic-” McGonagall clearly doesn’t think it’s _fantastic_ , if the flare of her nostrils is any indication. “Idea of teaching children about Dragons. You’ll be studying them for the rest of the year. As an expert, Mr. Weasley is here to make sure no one gets hurt. He won’t be your professor, just… extra help.”

Draco nods dumbly.

“There’s not much to do with Dragons, except for cleaning their habitats.” The Headmistress says. “Hopefully, that’ll teach you something of _responsibility,_ something you’ve clearly been lacking lately. Also, you’re not to go on any more Hogsmeade visits.”

“What?” At McGonagall’s murderous look, Draco looks down. “Yes, headmistress.”

“Dismissed.”

Draco stands and walks out of the room, only to find Pansy and Blaise sitting on the floor with their legs crossed. They jump up as soon as they see him.

“Ow!” Draco says when Blaise smacks him.

“Serves you right!” Blaise says. He looks furious. “What the hell were you thinking, leaving like that?”

“Is it true you snuck out to a muggle club?” Pansy asks excitedly.

Pansy and him are much less mature and responsible than Blaise is, which is why he’s often making sure they’re not doing something idiotic. Often, they are.

“Theo convinced me.” Draco says accusingly. Then he considers. “Admittedly, I wasn’t very hard to convince.”

“Are these yours?” Blaise asks, thumbing at the shirt Draco’s wearing. Draco’s cheeks heat.

“No.” he says.

Pansy’s and Blaise’s eyes snap up to his face.

“No way,” Pansy says gleefully. “ _No way_. There is absolutely _no way_ you went home with some guy from a club and lost your virginity!”

“Merlin, Pansy, no!” he says, even though that isn’t as far from the truth as he’d like it to be. “I just – I – he – I bumped into someone. Another wizard. I got drunk, and I shouldn’t have. He took me home.”

His friend’s eyes narrow.

“Did he-” Blaise begins. “Did he touch you? Did he do something to you against your consent?”

“Merlin, I’ll kill him! I swear I will, what’d he look like-” Draco cuts Pansy off before they can get too worked up.

“Merlin, no!” he says, for what it feels like the thousandth time. “He took me home. He let me sleep it off. Woke me up this morning, let me shower, gave me clothes, brought me here.”

“He brought you here?” Pansy asks, disbelieving. “Who the hell is he?”

The door to McGonagall’s office opens, and Lupin, Snape, and Charlie step out. The ginger gives Draco a small smile before following the other two professors down the hall, direction opposite to Draco’s and his friends.

“No way.” Pansy repeats. “ _No bloody way_ in fucking hell you went home with our new professor.”

“He’s not our professor!” Draco says snottily, crossing his arms. Blaise is looking worriedly at him, and Pansy’s gaping, so he sighs and rolls his eyes. “McGonagall said so, okay? He’s just… help. And I have a boyfriend, alright?”

Pansy and Blaise look at each other warily.

“About _that_ …” Pansy says. “You should probably go find him. He was worried about you.”

“He noticed you were gone before she did.” Blaise says, and Pansy grumbles and elbows his side.

“I _assumed_ you were with him.” She says. She folds her arms across her chest, and Draco can see she feels a bit guilty. She hasn’t been very focused on either of them lately, and even she knows it.

“It’s fine, Pans.” He says with a small smile. “I’ll go find Potter.”

He walks to the Quidditch pitch and sits down on the bleachers. He’s known Harry long enough to know that looking for him is bloody useless, but if he stays in the same spot for enough time, he’ll find him, so he waits.

It doesn’t take Potter more than five minutes to show up.

“Where the fuck were you?” he asks. He looks furious, and when he reaches out, Draco flinches. Instead of hitting him, though, Harry grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him close, wrapping him in his arms. Draco feels like a child buried in Harry like this, so small in comparison he might as well be a plushie. “I was worried about you!”

“I was told.” Draco says. He chews on his lower lip to stop it from trembling, and wraps his shaking arms around his boyfriend’s torso. His throat burns. “I’m sorry we fought.”

“Merlin,” Harry huffs out what’s almost a laugh, and he shakes his head. “ _Merlin_. Don’t. You don’t need to apologize. I was an arse, it was a simple question. I’m so sorry.”

He pushes Draco away so suddenly he almost lands on his bum, were it not for Harry’s hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking Draco all over. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

Draco laughs, disbelieving. “I’m fine, _mother_.”

Harry scowls at him. “Don’t. Had I disappeared for a day you’d be worse.”

It’s true.

“Lie.” He says, anyway. “I’d be happy as ever. I’d probably just go flying.”

“Sure,” Harry grins easily. He doesn’t argue Draco’s obvious lie, and Draco’s grateful.

He eyes Draco’s clothes, and Draco inwardly curses.

“Are those yours?” he asks, frowning.

Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie.

“No.” He says. “I – a man I met at the club let me sleep my hangover off in his hotel room.”

It sounds worse than he expected. Harry’s jaw tightens. Draco shouldn’t find it as attractive as he does.

“A man.” He repeats.

“Charlie Weasley.” Draco says quickly. “He – he recognized my name. Knew I was a Hogwarts student. He helped me get here.”

The name seems to relax Harry.

“Oh, Charlie.” He says. “I’m glad he could help you.”

He takes a deep breath, and then lets it out through his nose.

“About our fight?” he says attentively. “You asked why I asked you out.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Draco says. “I don’t want to fight again. I don’t care, alright?”

“No, I do.” Harry looks nervous. “I – Draco, I like you, alright? I like you, like, a _lot_. And I hadn’t realized that before, but it doesn’t make it any less true, and I want you to remember that, because I can’t – I wouldn’t want – I need you to not be angry at me, alright? At least not forever. I can’t – I want to be with you. I do.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Draco asks, frowning.

“What?” Harry asks. “ _What_? No! I’m trying to tell you why I asked you out!”

“Will it make me more or less happy?” Draco asks.

“Less.” Harry says after a beat. “Less, but you really need to know-”

“Then don’t tell me.” Draco says easily. There’s a feeling in his gut that he shouldn’t dismiss this so easily, but he doesn’t want this to be ruined. Doesn’t want _them_ to be ruined. “I can’t – I don’t want to know Harry. If you really do like me, it doesn’t matter why you asked me out, okay? It matters that you did.”

“But I-” Harry looks uncertain. Draco stands on the bleacher seat instead of the floor so he can be closer to Harry’s face and cups his jaw.

“I don’t care, Harry Potter.” He says, pressing a kiss against his jaw. “I went to a club yesterday and I got shit faced drunk and all I could think about was that I wanted to be with you, okay? I don’t need to know this.”

Harry grabs his jaw and kisses him on the lips, slow and deep before he pulls away.

“I want you.” He says under his breath. “More than you can imagine. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t.” Draco promises between chaste kisses. “I won’t, I promise.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He deepens the kiss again, and grabs Draco’s hips to pull him closer to him. They stay there until the moon's out and McGonagall's announced curfew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiii, sorry for taking so long to update :(( I'm in second partials and I'm drowning in projects, but i'm still definitely continuing this story. I have absolutely zero time because i'm part of the school ensemble (I think that's what it's called, if not, sorry, english isn't my native language) and we always practice on weekends. I'll still update as often as i can this month, and updates will hopefully increase again after november 30th, when I finish the school semester.


	9. Ron's Chess Strategy

“I want out.” Harry’s breathless when he says it, Hermione jumping when he takes off the invisibility cloak. He’s just arrived to the Gryffindor Common Room after running all the way from the dungeons, where he and Draco were snogging rather passionately before Blaise arrived.

Everyone’s at lunch, but Harry really needed to talk to Hermione, and she’d skipped it in place of studying for their NEWTS. Luna’s there, too, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, Ginny next to her with her head in her lap.

“I know,” She says, gently. It makes Harry’s heart ache.

“What?’ Hermione asks, clearing a space for Harry on the couch.

He takes a seat, pausing for a moment to catch his breath before he speaks. His throat feels tight, and he doesn’t want to say this; if he does, it makes it real, and if that happens, he can’t keep denying to himself what he’s known for quite a bit of time now.

“The bet.” He says. His voice sounds pained. “I don’t – Hermione, I – you were right.” He expects some gloating, or eye-rolling, but the three girls are looking at him with no trace of smugness in their expressions. “I do – I shouldn’t have. Made the bet, I mean. And it’s crap, all of it, because now – now I have feelings for him, and I can’t-”

His voice cracks, and he looks away, blinking quickly.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione says pitifully. She squeezes his knee, and he looks back at her. She’s frowning softly, her bottom lip slightly stuck out in a pout he knows well enough to know it’s from sympathy rather than from sadness of her own.

“You’ve only you to blame.” Ginny says. Her voice isn’t harsh, but she’s never been one to sugar-coat truths. It’s one of the things Harry liked best about her, still does. She sits up, resting her elbows on her knees. “Harry, I love you. You know that. I always have, and I always will. Sometimes you’re _incredibly_ thick, though.”

Hermione and Luna nod agreeably, and Harry frowns at his friends.

“Gee, thanks.” He says sarcastically.

Ginny rolls her eyes.

“Look.” She says. “You didn’t develop any new feelings for him, alright? You already had them.”

“But I-” he begins, and Ginny shushes him and continues.

“You’ve been obsessed with him, for, like, _ever_.” She says. Her fiery hair’s pulled back in a messy bun, the same as Luna’s and Hermione’s, and she’s wearing a Weasley Jumper. “Even when you hated him. Fifth year was mostly you complaining about him and staring at his arse. We know. We _knew_ , even then, that it was a very fine line to cross. With the right circumstances…” she waves a hand. “It wasn’t very hard to imagine.”

Harry’s speechless.

“And all of sixth year?” Hermione points out. “He wasn’t even doing _anything_ that year. He literally did not get out bed for the best of the summer semester, and still, you followed Parkinson around for _days,_ you snuck into the Slytherin dorms, you even tried to talk to _Zabini_.”

“It was _suspicious_!” Harry defends immediately.

“It wasn’t.” The three girls agree, and Harry scowls.

“We love you, Harry.” Hermione says. “Even when you’re a prick. And we want you to be happy. Does Draco make you happy?”

Harry swallows past the knot in his throat.

“Yes.” He whispers.

“That’s good.” Hermione says. “That’s _great_. You know you want him.”

She pauses, and Ginny takes over.

“But this isn’t fair to him. He deserves to know the truth, all of it.”

“Even if it means he’ll leave me?” Harry whispers, chin trembling.

“Even if it does,” Ginny says uneasily. “This was _your_ mistake. This was _your_ decision, but it wasn’t his. He deserves to know everything before he decides what to do. We all wish you’d have realized this sooner, done it the right way.” Her lips tighten, in a very Mrs. Weasley manner. “But what’s done is done. This is the price you were willing to make him pay. It’s the price you have to be willing to pay yourself.”

Harry nods, throat tightening further. Merlin, but he doesn’t want to do this. Everything in his body hurts at the thought of Draco going back to looking at him like he used to, like he loathes him, and he wants to cry at the thought.

“He won’t hate you.” Luna says softly.

“You can’t know that,” Harry says, pushing every word out like it hurts him. “He hated me before.”

“He didn’t.” Luna says. “He’ll be plenty angry, that’s for certain. He’ll probably want you to leave him alone for a while.”

“Understandable.” Ginny snorts under her breath.

“But he’s not as resentful as you think.” The blonde continues. “You know what you need to do. You knew it before you talked to us, and you wouldn’t have come to us if you wanted someone to talk you out of it, so go. Talk to him. Tell him the truth. He deserves at least that.”

Harry knows that. Draco doesn’t only deserve that, he deserves better. He deserves Harry had kept him out of his idiotic plan in the first place, he deserves to have never been at a point where he couldn’t get out of bed, he deserves to have never met Riddle.

 _Maybe_ , Harry thinks ruefully _, he deserves to have never met me_.

“I know.” He says.

The portrait swings open, and Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean come in.

“Harry has something to tell you.” Hermione says, and Harry’s eyes widen as he looks at her. She gives him an impatient hand motion.

“I want out of the bet,” he says, before he loses his nerve.

“What?” Seamus asks, surprised.

“I want out of the bet,” Harry repeats, feeling more and more certain by the moment. “I don’t want to do this anymore. Draco doesn’t deserve it.”

“What?” Dean asks. “ _What?_ Are you, Harry Potter, actually fucking backing out of a bet because of some slimy Slytherin snake?”

“Don’t call him that.” Harry says, more aggressively than he meant to. “You don’t know him.”

“You didn’t either until like a week ago!” Seamus exclaims.

It’s been more than a month now, Harry knows, but he doesn’t say it because he doesn’t feel like it’s relevant.

“That doesn’t matter,” He says. “We never should’ve made the bet in the first place!”

Harry notices just now that Ron’s grinning, and Neville’s smiling softly, looking at the floor and crossing his arms.

“What’re you grinning for?” Harry demands. “I thought you of all people would be angry! You hate him.”

“I do,” Ron admits. “But I don’t hate you, mate. I’ve known you had a crush on the git for like three years. I planned all of this.”

“ _What?_ ” the four boys demand.

“It’s our seventh year, yeah?” he shrugs. “I knew if you didn’t do anything about it now you’d never do anything about it, so I made a plan. First, I broke the shower in winter of last year.”

“Is that why you offered to go talk to the house elves about it?” Dean demands.

“Yep.” Ron grins, “Didn’t tell them a thing, and none of you trolls ever bothered to go yourselves. After that, when you were all whiny and complaining about it, I faked to be complaining too, and said I’d never play chess again if it meant hot water.”

Everyone’s silent, waiting for Ron to continue.

“After that, you all started to say what you’d do for hot water, and Harry said, and I quote, ‘I’d do anything’, and since it was when you still thought you hated Malfoy, I asked ‘Even shag Malfoy?’ and you said yes.”

He shrugs, throws a chocolate truffle – did he always have those? – into his mouth and chews quickly before he swallows.

“Made subtle comments about how Malfoy fucking hates you to Seamus for the rest of the year, and how he’d probably never in his life sleep with you,” Harry makes an undignified sound, and Hermione shushes him aggressively.

“I _knew_ you didn’t usually talk about Harry’s shags!” Seamus says triumphantly.

“Yeah, made you look a bit weird.” Dean agrees, and it’s Ginny this time who shushes them.

The three girls are listening with rapt attention, and Hermione looks somewhere between curious, amused, and aroused.

“Skip to the beginning of seventh year, and I didn’t know how to bring up the subject, but I didn’t even have to!” He grins happily. “Seamus said he knew someone who’d never sleep with you and you made the bet and I just let it go from there.” He shrugs. “Knew you’d realize your feelings for him sooner or later.”

Silence. Then,

“I am so attracted to you right now.” Hermione says, mouth half open, and Ron grins and takes a small bow.

“It was just like making a chess strategy,” he says. “Easier, even.”

Everyone’s gaping at him, and he frowns.

“What?” he demands. “Can’t I be pretty _and_ smart?”

The boys snort and the girls laugh, everyone shaking their heads.

“So you – you _manipulated_ us?!” Harry asks. “For a _year and a half_?!”

“We’ve all got a bit of Slytherin in us.” Ron grimaces. “Comes out when necessary.”

“How was this _necessary_?!”

The look on Ron’s face softens.

“Mate, you spent all last year worried sick.” When Harry goes to speak, he holds up a hand to silence him. “I know you don’t think so, and you think it was just curiosity, but you skipped classes to see if he was fine, meals to see if he was eating, sleep to see if he was in his dorm. You were _worried_ about him.”

“A bit creepy about it, though.” Neville muses.

“Agreed,” Everyone says, and Harry scowls.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” He asks.

Everyone turns to him with an incredulous look.

“Are you _kidding?!_ ” Hermione demands. “You’re the most thick-headed prick,” snorts and giggles, but Hermione doesn’t seem to realize why, too focused on her idea to pay attention to them. “When you don’t want to accept something, Harry Potter!”

Ron nods in agreement. “You had to realize it for yourself. If we tried to tell you, you’d only laugh at the idea and suppress your feelings even more.”

Everyone nods in agreement. Harry crosses his arms, disgruntled.

“So what now?” Ron asks.

“What?” Harry asks.

“What now?” He repeats. “Way I see it you’ve two options mate: you can not tell him and take this relationship seriously and pray to whatever god is out there that he _never_ finds out,” Harry shudders unpleasantly. “ _Or_ you can tell him and pray to Merlin that he doesn’t hex your balls off.”

Everyone grimaces.

“I would.” Ginny informs him, and the others nod in agreement, “Just as a warning.”

Harry chews on his lower lip.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween,” he says. “I invited him to the party. If I tell him right now I’ll just ruin the holiday for him.”

“And if you tell him in December you’ll ruin the winter hols for him.” Luna reasons. “And if you tell him in January you’ll ruin the Three Kings day for him, in February Valentine’s day, and so on and so on.” Her voice is soft when she continues. “There’ll never be a right time to tell him this, Harry.”

Harry rubs at his face. Christ, but he fucked up.

“I know.” He says. “I know. Merlin. I should tell him now, shouldn’t I?”

His friends nod in agreement.

“The sooner you tell him the less likely he is to punch you in the face, probably.” Hermione says.

Harry’s not sure Draco can even reach his face, if he’s honest, but he has no doubt that the Slytherin would find a way to do so, even if it meant climbing Harry like a tree. Merlin knows he’s done it before – to snog him rather than hit him, but still.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’m going to tell him.”


	10. The Halloween Party

“This is disgusting,” Draco states, just for the sake of complaining.

In the past few weeks, he’s gotten more used to the smell of dragon dung than he’d ever thought he’d be in his life, and he’s had to work extra hard to get Charlie to let him go early tonight so he can go to the stupid Gryffindor’s Halloween party.

Charlie snorts. “So you’ve said.”

He’s petting Mushu – a baby Chinese Fireball who fucking hates Draco but exposes her belly for Charlie to scratch whenever he’s within fifty meters – while Draco shovels various types of dragon waste into a vanishing trash can.

“Why’re you just sitting there?” Draco complains, like he does, every day.

“I did my fair share of shoveling while I was a newbie in the reserve.” Charlie reminds him, like he does, every day. “And you wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t snuck out and gotten so drunk you couldn’t sneak back in.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I planned it, alright? I usually manage to sneak back in.” At Charlie’s responsible look, he rolls his eyes. “I mean, of course I have _never_ snuck out and back in without anyone noticing, professor.”

Charlie snorts and scratches over Mushu’s ear, making her purr loudly, as if gloating at Draco that she’s all comfortable and warm in Charlie’s lap while he’s cleaning up after her. He flips her off when Charlie isn’t looking, and she just purrs louder.

“I think that’s enough.” Charlie says after a beat.

“What?” Draco looks around at the dirty floor. “But I’m not done.”

Charlie’s lips quirk. “Would you rather I keep you here for another four hours?”

Draco shudders and places the shovel against the stable wall. “No. I’ll be going, thanks.”

Charlie laughs, but Draco doesn’t get to see the expression on his face, since he’s already walking away.

“Hi,” a light voice says, and Draco practically jumps.

“Merlin, Luna!” he screeches, heart beating quickly. “Warn a guy, won’t you?”

“I miss going to Bellealto with you.” She says without preambles.

Draco’s cheeks heat. He hasn’t talked to his cousin since about November of last year, and though he’s terribly ashamed of having stopped talking to her, he hasn’t known how to approach the subject. He should’ve known that with Luna it’s as easy as saying things bluntly.

“I miss it too,” He says softly. “Do you think… do you want to spend every Saturday there, like we used to?”

She smiles softly. “I’d like that, Dragon.”

Draco feels a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

Luna links her arm through his, and they walk back towards the castle together.

“Are you going to the party tonight?” she asks. And then, “Harry was looking for you yesterday.”

“Yes, I’m going.” He says. “I haven’t seen Harry since yesterday before lunch. I had to go to collect some dragon food from a buyer. I was out until pretty late.”

Thankfully, his detention isn’t completely revolved around shoveling Dragon dung, but it _is_ completely revolved around the uninteresting parts of caring for a dragon, such as running errands.

“What are you going to dress up as?” Luna asks.

“I’m not certain, yet.” He admits. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo had been entirely useless. Pansy kept suggesting surprising Harry with lingerie, Blaise sat in the shop looking bored and seconded her idea, and Theo mainly wanted him to dress up in an utterly ridiculous lion costume to represent ‘house unity’. Needless to say, they’d left without buying anything. “You?”

“I’m going as a phoenix.” Luna says. “I’ve wings, look.”

It’s true; she’s already wearing her costume, her clothes varying in red-to-yellow hues, wings attached to the back of her shirt and her wrists, looking surprisingly muggle. She also has a mohawk-like set of fiery red feathers on the top of her head, along with a beak on her mouth, tied by an elastic across the back of her head.

“I can help you pick a costume.” She says.

Draco grimaces discreetly. “Uh…”

“I’ll make it for you!” she says excitedly.

He wants to turn her down, but she looks very excited, and Draco’s still feeling traces of his guilt, so he puts on an uncertain smile and says,

“When do we start?”

“Now,” Luna says, and drags him along to the Ravenclaw tower.

Hours later, in Gryffindor tower, Harry’s tapping his foot impatiently and shifting nervously. He knows Draco told him he was going to come, but he hasn’t seen him since before lunch yesterday, and he hasn’t shown up, and…

“Merlin, mate, chill.” Ron rolls his eyes. “You’re going to burn a hole through the door with your eyes.”

“I’m chill.” Harry says. Ron snorts beside him, and Harry glares at him, which only makes the red-head snort louder.

“He’ll be here,” he says. “He will. And can you grab a beer or something? You’re supposed to be a pirate, don’t they drink loads?”

Harry doesn’t bother to answer.

As the minutes pass, the crowd gets bigger and bigger, but Harry’s senses jumps the second he sees a flash of white blonde hair.

Draco’s… breathtaking. His hair’s soft and mussed, and there’s a shining halo above his head. The wings are big, white, and soft looking, secured to his back by god knows what, and he’s in a white suit.

“Hello,” the blonde says uncertainly, seeming a bit unnerved by Harry’s reaction.

“You look – Merlin, you look amazing, love.” Harry groans, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

Draco’s cheeks flush, and he looks pleased.

“Thank you,” he says. “Luna helped a lot.”

“She did?” Harry’s honestly surprised.

Luna has a great sense of fashion in her own way, but it’s usually a lot more… flashy than this.

Before his boyfriend can respond, a voice interrupts.

“Draco!” Pansy’s drunken voice comes. A second later she’s on Harry, grabbing his arms for support, and he grunts in surprise. “You’re here!”

“I am,” Draco says, evidently amused. “And you’re drunk.”

“I am,” Pansy confirms, grinning. “And you need to get drunk too.”

“I don’t-” Draco begins, and Pansy’s pouting.

“ _Please_ ,” She says, and her lower lip wobbles and her eyes water.

Harry frowns worriedly, but Draco just sighs and rolls his eyes. “Merlin, you dirty fucker, no need to be so fucking dramatic.”

And just like that, it’s gone, Pansy’s all grinning and happy again.

“Thank you,” she takes a little bow.

She takes Draco away, and Harry doesn’t see him for the next few hours. He’s sitting on the couch next to the fireplace, downing a butterbeer, speaking to Paravati Patil when Draco comes over and plops down on Harry’s lap, making him huff.

“Hi Har’,” he says, long lashes tickling Harry’s chin, his breath on the base of his neck.

“Hi, baby,” Harry laughs warmly. He cups Draco’s face to push him away a bit, take a look at his face. His cheeks are flushed red, and his lips quirk fondly when his eyes finally focus on Harry’s face. “You okay?”

He sees Paravati leave with Lavender out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m drunk.” Draco states, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck. “And I love you.”

Harry freezes.

He laughs nervously.

“You’re drunk, baby.” He says, letting Draco nuzzle his neck. “You won’t remember it in the morning.”

“Maybe I won’t.” Draco agrees. “Won’t make it any less true. I _love_ you. I love _you_ , Harry potter. I do. Merlin, it feels good to finally say it.”

“I love you, too,” Harry says softly, and he wishes it weren’t true. “I do, Draco. You’ve to remember that, alright? Whatever else.”

“Whatever else,” Draco repeats softly, seemingly sober for a second. Then, the hazy look’s back, and he smiles dopily. “Harry, kiss me.”

Harry laughs again, and then teases his lips against Draco’s softly. The blonde whimpers, and Harry tries to ignore his leaping heart.

“No teasing,” Draco tries to order, but it sounds more like a plead. “No teasing, Har’, kiss me.”

Harry does.

The kiss is slow, and deep, and everything Harry wants and everything he can’t have, not without telling Draco the truth.

“Draco, I need to tell you something.” He says. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Then we can talk tomorrow,” Draco says. “Everything bad can always wait for tomorrow.”

Harry considers disagreeing, but even if he tells Draco now, he’ll only manage to upset the blonde and he probably won’t even remember tomorrow.

“Okay,” he agrees softly. “What would you like to do?”

Draco doesn’t answer. He’s already too busy tracing his fingers across every mole and freckle on Harry’s visible collar bones, so Harry relaxes against the chair and lets him. Soon enough, Ginny comes sit with him. She dislikes getting drunk even more than Harry does, despises the loss of control.

“Hey Harry,” She has a butterbeer in her hand, and she snorts when he sees Draco. “’S he drunk?”

“Off his arse.” Harry responds, rolling his eyes fondly and snorting softly. “You?”

“I wish I were.” Ginny says, lips quirked. She’s quiet for a moment. “You love him, don’t you?”

Harry lifts a hand to Draco’s head – he’s mumbling softly with his lips against Harry’s shoulders, but Harry can’t make out what he’s saying – and runs his fingers through the strands, enjoying Draco’s soft moan of content.

“I do,” he says softly, throat burning. “I’m sorry.”

No matter what anyone believes, Harry _did_ want to make it work with Ginny. He’d wanted it more than he’d wanted anything else, at first, but slowly he’d come to realize he wanted _more_. A lot more, things he wanted to do, and places he wanted to be, and things he wanted to know about himself.

And even when he’d broken up with her, he’d still loved her – a part of him always will, he suspects – but a relationship with her had not been what he wanted at the time.

“Don’t be.” Ginny says. She looks towards where Luna is, speaking to Padma Patil about something or other. “I was… pretty angry, at first.” She admits carefully. “And then I was confused, and sad, and a mess, but… I get it. We were fifteen.”

Harry laughs a bit.

“Merlin, we were _fifteen_.” He repeats in wonder.

Ginny smiles fondly. “We’ve both found different people.” A snort. “Related people, funnily enough. And I do want you to be happy. If that’s with Malfoy – _Draco_ , then so be it.”

She’s dressed as a Harpy, and her eyes turn a little sad as she continues.

“He does deserve to know, Harry.” She says. “He needs to.”

Harry nods, throat tight. Draco makes a soft noise that sounds suspiciously like a snore.

“Tired.” He mutters, lashes fluttering against Harry’s shoulder. “Bed, Har’.”

Harry shakes his head a bit, trying to clear it.

“I’ll take him to bed,” he tells Ginny. “I don’t think I’ll be down again, so don’t wait for me.”

She nods, and Harry wraps his hands around Draco’s thighs, lifting him as he stands up. While they disappear up the stairs, someone wolf-whistles, but Harry doesn’t bother to look back.

“I love you, Harry.” Draco repeats as Harry lays him down in his bed. He’d take him to the Slytherin dungeons, but he doesn’t know the password and he doesn’t think Draco’d remember if he tried.

“I love you, too, baby.” He says. He presses the tip of his wand against Draco’s trousers, transfigures them into soft cotton pants, and then does the same to his shirt. Surely he’ll sleep better like this. “Sleep now.”

He begins to tuck him in, but Draco’s not cooperating, moving around in the bed and freeing his limbs anytime Harry tries to put them under a blanket.

“Draco,” he warns, frustrated.

“Fuck me,” Draco breathes.

Harry chokes on his own spit, nearly breaking out into a coughing fit.

“What?” he asks, shocked.

“Fuck me,” Draco repeats. “I want it, Harry. Want you inside me, want to feel you, I love you, please.”

Harry’s shaking his head before Draco even finishes the sentence.

“No,” he says. “No. You’re _drunk_.”

“But I do want it.” Draco says. He kneels on the bed, reaching out for Harry’s shoulder, but Harry takes a few steps back.

“You’re drunk.” Harry repeats. “I’m not fucking you while you’re drunk.”

Draco pouts a bit, but he gives up easily enough. “Cuddle with me, then?”

Two months ago, if anyone told Harry that Draco Malfoy was a cuddler, he’d have laughed in their face.

Now though, now Harry’s spent enough time as Draco’s boyfriend to know how touchy and needy the blond actually is, and the request doesn’t come as a surprise.

He purses his lips. “And you’ll go to sleep?”

Draco nods, eyes wide and innocent, as if Harry doesn’t know better by now.

He changes into his pajamas quickly, and then gets into bed with Draco, wrapping the blond in a tight grip, Harry’s chest to his back.

He covers both of them in blankets and then turns down the lights. It’s silent for a bit, and then Draco speaks.

“Is it me?” he whispers. “Don’t you want me?”

“Merlin,” Harry whispers back. “I do. Fuck, Draco, I do.”

He doesn’t bother to explain, because he doesn’t know how to, and he doesn’t think Draco’d understand, not while he’s this drunk.

“I love you,” he says, for good measure. “Whatever else.”

“Whatever else,” Draco slurs quietly.

He falls asleep.


	11. How Blaise Zabini ended it

“ _Fuck_.” Draco wakes with the worst hangover he’s had in his life, and that’s fucking saying something, considering how often he got drunk at sixteen.

“Morning,” Says a slightly amused voice, and Draco blinks slowly to get his eyes to focus.

Harry’s standing in front of him in pajama pants and a grey hoodie, a cup of hot chocolate and a glass of water in his hands.

“These are for you,” he says, chuckling. He hands them to Draco, along with a small button-like object. “Muggle Pill. For the pain.”

Draco’s headache is so bad he’s beyond questioning anything, so he swallows it without a second thought, downing the whole glass of water with it.

“Merlin,” he mutters, rubbing at his forehead. “What _happened_?”

Harry chuckles again and sits behind him.

“You came to the Halloween Party.” He says. “And you got drunk. _Very_ drunk.”

Draco winces. He remembers Pansy’s sad face, how she guilted him into drinking. After that, it’s pretty much a blur.

“Merlin,” He groans. He buries his head in his hands, and Harry waves his wand, refilling the glass of water, and then leaves it on the bedside table. “Was I completely embarrassing?”

Harry rubs at the back of his neck.

“No,” he says hastily.

Fuck.

“What did I do?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Harry assures quickly. “You just… said some things.”

_Fuck_.

“Some things?” he laughs nervously. “Like what?”

“Uh… well, that you loved me, for one.” Harry says, and Draco’s face burns with embarrassment. The deep shade of red deepens further when Harry continues. “You wanted me to fuck you.”

“Did you?” Draco asks, even though he doesn’t feel any different.

Harry looks slightly wounded.

“Of course not! Do you think I _would_?”

Tom would’ve, Draco knows.

He doesn’t say it because he knows it’s not a fair comparison, and he’s trying to unlearn everything he’s learned with Tom, he really is, but it’s not as easy as people often believe it is.

Draco’s often terrified it’s going to stay with him all his life, the wariness, the fear of being around someone who supposedly loves him, someone he’s supposed to feel _safe_ around.

“I wouldn’t.” Harry assures softly when Draco takes too long to answer. He grabs his hand, rubbing it between his palms to warm it up. The blond is always ice-cold, whereas Harry’s a fucking furnace.

He must notice Draco’s freezing, because he summons a jumper from the trunk at the foot of his bed. It’s baby blue, heavenly soft and worn, with a dark blue animal-like figure with the word OHANA underneath it.

When Draco pulls it on he’s absolutely swimming in it. It’s up to his knees, sleeves way longer than his arms, and it’s the warmest, softest, most _amazing_ thing Draco’s ever felt against his skin before. And it smells like Harry, so absolutely delicious.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, pulling his knees up to his chest, thankful that the jumper covers his feet even, in this position.

“Don’t be.” Harry says. He looks oddly enamored at Draco in his clothes. “It’s understandable.”

Draco hates the sympathy in his voice, but he merely nods and looks away.

“Do you regret it?” Harry asks, and there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Saying it? You can take it back, if you want. We’ll forget it ever happened.”

Draco takes a deep breath, tries to ground himself, even a little bit.

“I don’t.” he says. He looks up, grey meeting green, and finally, _finally_ looks at Harry. “I love you, Harry Potter. Merlin knows why.”

There’s a crooked grin in Harry’s face when he speaks next.

“I love you too, Draco Malfoy.” He says. “Whatever else.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Whatever else.” Draco says, warmth spreading through his ribcage.   

November bleeds into December slowly, and Draco finds himself sleeping in Harry’s bed more often than not. They don’t have sex – they try a few times, but Draco isn’t as ready as he thinks he was and Harry hates to see him push his own boundaries – but turns out Harry enjoys being the little spoon more than he thought he did, so they do that often, Draco’s face buried in the crook of Harry’s shoulder.

The day it happens, Draco’s up in his room, packing his suitcase for the Winter Hols. He’s buzzing with nervous energy. The train leaves tomorrow, and he doesn’t want to leave Harry, or his friends, but if he’s completely honest, he’s glad he’s going home. He needs to see his mom and dad. He’s missed them more than a bit.

“Draco,” Blaise enters the room. “We need to talk.”

“Now?” Draco asks frowning. He should’ve finished packing days ago, but he’d been too caught up in Harry to do it, and now there’s a huge mess of clothes and shoes and personal possessions on his bed and he doesn’t know where to start. “I need to finish packing.”

“It’s important.” Blaise says.

It makes Draco turn around, because Blaise, though practically a mother to the rest of the Slytherins, likes to play things lightly, so if he’s outright stating it’s important it must be.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning. They sit on Blaise’s bed per his request, and Draco can see he’s nervous. “What did you do? Merlin, Blaise, if you slept with Sara Oliveira-Milan even though Pansy’s _still_ heartbroken over her-”

“Nothing like that.” Blaise clears his throat. “It’s not about me, actually. It’s about you. And Potter. Potter more than you, I guess.”

Draco forces his rising panic to calm down.

“What about Harry?” he asks, twisting the jumper in his hands. He’s holding a baby blue jumper he was just about to pack.

It’s the one Harry gave him – Draco’s been using it for the last two months, and he _loves_ it, and he’s never, _ever_ giving it back to Harry – and it always makes him feel better when he’s anxious.

“It’s… it was a bet.” He says. “Speaking to you. Dating you.”

Draco… snorts.

He shakes his head.

He rolls his eyes.

“You’re wrong.” He says.

“I’m not.” Blaise says. He looks pitying, and Draco _hates_ that.

“How do you know?” Draco demands. He stands up from the bed, begins pacing around, feels like he just might crawl out of his skin if he doesn’t _move_. “How would you _know_ that? Did he tell you?”

“No.” Blaise says. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Then how do you _know_?” he asks. He hugs the jumper tighter to himself. “If you’re – if this is some sort of prank, if you and Pansy planned this or something, I’ve got to tell you it’s not very funny.”

“Merlin, Draco, I wish it was a prank, alright?” Blaise rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t – Pansy didn’t want to tell you, we weren’t _going to_ , but then Theo said you had a right to and of course he’s right, the bastard-”

“Pansy? Theo? Does _everyone_ know but me?” Draco asks. His head’s spinning, and he needs to sit down, but when he does it just gets worse so he gets up again. “How long? How long have you known?”

“I’ve just found out.” Blaise says. “Theo, too.”

“And Pansy?”

Silence.

“ _And Pansy?”_ Draco demands, louder.

“I – I don’t know.” Blaise is lying, Draco knows. The right corner of his lips twitch when he does. “Not that long I think.”

“Bullshit.”

Blaise shakes his head, clenches his jaw.

“A – two, three months, maybe?” he asks. “Pansy knows a lot of things, you know that-”

“She’s known for _three months_.” Draco repeats. “ _Three months?_ Is that why you’re telling me? Didn’t she have the guts to tell me herself?”

Blaise sighs.

“I – it wasn’t her decision to make, I get that, but she was trying to protect you-”

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Draco says, trying to put it in some way that his mind can process what he’s feeling. “Pansy’s known Harry’s been going out with me on a bet for _three months_ – so since the whole thing started, practically – and she didn’t want me to get hurt so she didn’t tell me.” Blaise nods. “And then, after _those_ three months, when I’m _happy_ , you both decide it’s suddenly time to come clean?”

Blaise winces.

“It’s not – she shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Blaise says. “I know that. I agree with that. Merlin, Draco, what would you have done? Take the example, she’d been crushing on Oliveira–Milan for _years_. Had you found out their relationship had started on a bet, would you have told her?”

“Yes, I would’ve!” Draco says heatedly. “And if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t decide to do it _three months_ into the damned thing!”

Being completely honest, he’s not sure if he would’ve. He wouldn’t have wanted to be the person bearing the news, but Pansy’s his friend. He respects her that much. He’d have owed her the truth, if he’d known it.

Blaise stands up, takes a step towards him.

“Draco,” he says, pleadingly. “Let’s not focus on that for a moment, okay?”

But Draco _has_ to concentrate on that, because focusing on the fact that Harry said he loved him after he’d been lying to him for a month and had continued to lie to him for another two hurts too much. He can’t focus on that, can’t talk about it, can’t even fucking _think_ about it, not yet.

“I don’t-” He says. He wraps his arms around himself loosely. “I can’t.”

When he hugs him, Blaise smells like wood smoke because of the fireplace and dried leaves because he was probably helping Theo pick the prettiest ones for his collection, and the feelings familiar, and safe, and warm, and Draco breaks down crying right then and there.

They sit on the floor for a really long time, and after Draco asks Blaise to leave him alone, and he does, reminding him that he’ll be there, whatever he needs. Draco merely nods numbly and rests his elbows on his knees.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but after a while the door opens and Harry steps in. He was going to help Draco pack his things when he finished with his own. Draco’d totally forgotten.

“Hi, babe.” He says. Draco’s standing up, staring at his suitcase blankly, facing away from the door. He pecks Draco’s cheek quickly.

Draco doesn’t respond.

Harry looks at his face, and he frowns when he sees Draco’s lower lip trembling.

“Tell me,” he begins, voice deadly quiet. “ _Tell me_ that you did not start this because of a bet.”

He hears Harry’s breath stop for a moment.

“What?” he manages.

Draco turns around to face him, hands shaking around the warm jumper he’s holding – he hasn’t put it down yet, for some reason, but he can’t, not yet – and he clenches his jaw.

“ _Tell me_ ,” he repeats. “That Blaise is, for once in his life, _completely_ wrong about the situation and you _did not_ start dating me because of a bet.”

“Zabini told you?” Harry asks, head spinning.

He doesn’t deny it, Draco notes.

“It’s true?” He asks, voice tiny, eyes huge, and he _hates_ himself for the tears pooling in his eyes.

“I didn’t – it’s not what – it’s not like that.” Harry – no, Potter – manages finally.

“Then what is it like?” Draco snaps. He’s shaking all over and he feels like he’s going to cry and he wants Harry to hug him and hold him _so_ badly right now and he can’t because it hurts _so_ much he’s sure he’ll crumble if Harry even comes near him – “Tell me, Potter, what the fuck is it like, then?”

“It’s not – it was like that,” Harry admits, voice unsteady. Draco’s shoulders tense and he rushes to continue. “At first! At first, it was, Seamus bet me that I couldn’t shag you and-”

“That you couldn’t _shag_ me?” Draco asks. Merlin, this is worse than he imagined it could be. “That you couldn’t _shag_ me?! Is this some kind of _joke_? You didn’t even want to date me, you just wanted to get in my pants?”

“No, I-” Harry looks at him pleadingly, tries to reach out, but Draco moves away. “At first. At first, yes, Draco but-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Draco snaps icily. “Merlin, Potter, don’t fucking call me that. That wasn’t – you weren’t – I loved you.” He laughs hollowly. “Merlin _fuck_ , I _loved_ you.”

“And I love you, too!” Harry says. He tries to take a step towards Draco, but Draco takes two steps back, so he stops. “I do! Merlin, Draco, I really do love you, please, _please_ believe that.”

He sounds panicked, like he’s about to cry, or run, or scream and he looks so _scared_ and pained and were it any other circumstances Draco would pull him to his chest and reassure him that it would all be alright but it won’t be.

“Merlin, Potter, how the fuck am I supposed to believe anything you say?!” He shouts. There’s rage burning at his throat and an odd empty at his ribcage and so much _sadness_ suffocating his lungs, his limbs, his cheeks. “How the – how am I actually supposed to look at you, ever again?! You were – fuck, you were lying about _all_ of it, weren’t you? None of it was true?”

“No!” Harry says. There are tears gathering at his eyes and the sight tears Draco further apart and he turns around because he can’t _look_ at him, not now. “It _was!_ Fuck, Draco, it _is_ true! I love you, I do love you, I wasn’t lying about that. I – I hated you, but then I started to get to know you and you’re wonderful, and amazing, and I’m so fucking in love with you-”

“Don’t.” Draco interrupts weakly. He sits down on the bed, shoulders shaking, and he hunches in on himself, hugging the soft blue jumper closer. He can’t listen to this. He doesn’t have to, doesn’t deserve to go through this.

“Draco, look at me.” he says. Draco doesn’t. Harry walks over, kneels in front of him, takes his hands in his. “Baby, please. _Please_ look at me.” Draco manages to lift his eyes to Harry’s, but he can’t take this, he can’t do this, doesn’t want to, can’t possibly hold everything he’s feeling right now. “I love you. I love you, _so much_ , please, _please_ believe that. Whatever else. I meant that.”

And suddenly Draco’s furious. Potter lands on his arse when Draco pushes him away, standing up to pace around the room.

“Whatever else didn’t _mean_ that, you fucking liar!” he snaps. “Whatever else meant whatever else happens, whatever else circumstances we’re in! it doesn’t mean, hey, I love you even if you don’t love me and are only trying to get into my pants.”

Even though he does.

Even though he thinks he always might love Harry Potter.

“Draco, please-” he begins. His voice is shaking, all of him is shaking, and he’s crying and his voice is raw and he looks like a fucking mess and his glasses are beginning to fog and Draco has the urge to clean them because Harry always forgets to.

“No!” He snaps. “Fuck, Potter, how dare you?! I – you – Merlin, I was so fucking _stupid_ thinking you could be any fucking different than how I thought you were!”

“Baby,-”

“Leave.” Draco says coldly.

He’s not a Slytherin for nothing.

Determination. Cunning. Ambition.

All of these traits have kept him alive before, all of these traits got him through everything with Tom, all of these traits kept him going when he couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed in the fucking morning, being a Slytherin kept him alive when every other part of himself _couldn’t._

He’ll get through this. He knows he will, because if there’s one thing he’s always been good at is pushing through, and he’ll be damned if he lets Harry Potter be his downfall.

“Leave, Potter. I’m done. We’re done. I don’t want to see you. Don’t fucking talk to me, ever again.”


	12. Pansy Parkinson visits Godric's Hollow

The winter Hols are hell.

Everything in his body hurts. He’s rarely hungry and when he is, it’s too much work to go downstairs and get something, so he just stays in bed most of the time. He hasn’t watched TV or gone flying, and everything he tries to do seems like too much effort, so he just doesn’t.

The day after they broke up, he’d almost thought he was dying. His heart kept clenching and even though he’d cried his heart out the night before, anytime he even thought about Draco he wanted to cry again.

He saw him boarding the train with Parkinson, Zabini, and Nott, and he tried to get closer to talk to him, to apologize, to hug him, to do _anything_ but stand around uselessly, but the silent _Flippendo_ Parkinson had thrown his way had stalled him enough that he’d lost them.

Draco hadn’t even _looked_ at him. Parkinson and Zabini kept throwing him deadly glares, and though Nott wasn’t as open with his anger, he’s pretty certain he’s just as angry as the rest of them.

“Okay,” he hears his mom say as she snaps the curtains of his bedroom open. “You’ve been in here for weeks. Come downstairs and we’ll talk.”

Harry knows better than to think that’s a request and not an order.

He drags himself downstairs – in flannel pajamas and stag slippers – and finds his dad, Sirius, and Remus already there.

“What’s going on?” he asks, frowning.

“We’re worried.” His dad says.

Harry’s the striking image of him, right down to the glasses, and even though he had a hard time seeing it before, he realizes it now.

“About?” he asks.

“You!” Sirius says. “You always loved Christmas. What’s going on?”

“Is it about Draco?” Remus asks quietly, and everyone, including Harry, snaps their heads towards him.

“Draco?” James asks. “Who’s Draco?”

“Draco _Malfoy_?” Sirius asks. “ _My_ Draco?”

After Narcissa remarried when Draco was a child, she apologized to Sirius about a lot of things, and they reconnected. Sirius visits them often, as they do him and Remus.

“ _Malfoy_?” Lily asks. “The boy you hate? Did he do something to you?”

Everyone looks at him, so Harry sighs and sits down.

“I – he’s my – was my boyfriend.” He mutters.

“I’m guessing it didn’t end well?” Lily asks him gently as she sits beside him, frowning and rubbing her thumb in circles across his shoulder.

“You could say that.” Harry says.

Merlin, the understatement of the fucking year.

“What happened?” Sirius asks, resting his chin on his hand.

“It’s a long story.” Harry rubs at his eyes.

“We’ve got time.” James says.

And so Harry tells them everything. From the bet, to the way he realized he loved Draco – when he was brewing a Felix Felicis potion, the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up – to the stupid, _stupid_ way he’d decided not to tell him because he thought it’d made him unhappy.

By the end of it, Sirius is leaning back on the couch and frowning thoughtfully, Remus looks pitying, James is drumming his fingers against his thigh, and Lily’s arms are crossed.

“This was a _bet_?” she asks.

Harry grimaces.

“Yeah.” He says. At Lily’s infuriated look, he continues. “I know it was cruel, mom, alright? I shouldn’t have done it, and I should’ve told him after I did.”

His mom purses her lips, but she nods jerkily. “Yes, you should’ve.” Her eyes soften, and she runs a soothing hand down his face. “Are you alright, honey?”

A knot begins to form at Harry’s throat, and he shakes his head.

“I miss him.” He says, voice choked. “ _So_ much. And he hates me, and he’ll never speak to me again and Merlin, I can’t even fucking blame him-”

The curse slips past his lips and he expects a chastisement, but it doesn’t come.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” His dad rubs his knee supportively. “I’m not sure how to make this better.”

Harry sighs and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t know either.

“Look, Harry, the kid loves you, yeah?” Remus says. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Had to endure it for half a year, thanks. He does love you, and you can’t just stop loving someone when you’re mad at them.”

Harry snorts. “He’s a stubborn bastard, so he just might.”

There’s a faint smile on Remus’s lips. “He is,” he agrees. “So are you. Harry, do you want him back?”

“Yes.” Harry whispers.

“Then you fucking do something about it.” Lily says. Everyone looks at her surprised. She rolls her eyes at them. “Look, Harry, you’ve been dating this boy for, what, two, three months?”

“Almost four.” Harry confirms.

“Okay,” Lily says. “So you know him reasonably well. You love him. He loves you. You messed up, _really_ bad. It’s understandable that he’s angry. So like any other mistake, you fix it.”

Sirius nods along, seemingly deep in thought.

“Yeah,” He says. “You buy him roses, you cook for him, you write him a fucking love letter, six feet long if you have to. Right now, he thinks all of it was a lie, so you need to prove to him that it wasn’t.”

“And if there’s anything you haven’t told him, you need to come clean.” Lily says. “He needs to know _everything_. If you manage to get him back and then he finds out about more stuff he’s gone for good.”

The idea sends a panicked rush to Harry’s head.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” He says. “He won’t even _look_ at me right now.”

And if he’d been angry at Harry, Harry could take that. He’d take the hexes, or the jinxes, or the insults, but there’d been none from him. He’d looked tiny, and sad, and fragile and Harry wanted to reach out and touch his face, kiss him, to assure him that he’d never hurt him again, but he didn’t.

Harry can feel his heart trying to escape his ribs, the hot press of tears against the back of his eyes, the blinding feeling of panic against the pit of his stomach. If he’s lost Draco – if he’s lost him and he hates him -

“Hey,” his mom says, squeezing his shoulder gently. “It’ll be alright.”

“And if he doesn’t want me back?” Harry asks. He’s terrified of the answer, but he needs to hear it anyway.

“Then you’re going to have to respect that, buddy.” Sirius says, frowning pityingly. “Draco deserves to make his choice, and you have to respect it, whatever it is.”

Harry knows he’s right, no matter how much it hurts.

Before anyone can say anything else, the Floo chimes, and out of the green flames steps Pansy Parkinson.

Half her hair’s tied in a messy knot, and she’s wearing tight black jeans and a white and blue striped shirt, and a thick bomber jacket.

“Potter,” she greets coolly. “We need to talk.”

Harry’s immediate worry is that something’s happened to Draco. Why else would Pansy Parkinson be here, in his house?

He forces himself to breathe in and out, and says, “Sure.”

They go up to his room, and she wrinkles her nose and shoots cleaning spells everywhere.

“When’s the last time you cleaned up in here, Potter?” She asks.

Harry doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know why she’s here, and frankly, he’s a little embarrassed about how much of a mess he has been.

“Is Draco alright?” he asks. “Has something happened?”

Parkinson’s blood red lips tighten angrily.

“No, he’s not alright, you fucking idiot.” She snaps. “He’s fucking miserable.”

Another wave of guilt crashes through Harry, so strong he almost can’t breathe.

“He’ll make it through it.” Parkinson says, eyeing him calculatingly. “He doesn’t need you.”

“Is that what you came here to tell me?” Harry demands. “Because I already fucking know that, Parkinson.”

Parkinson runs a hand through her hair and then crosses her arms. She’s frowning deeply, and the corners of her mouth are turned downwards. She looks deeply unhappy.

“That’s not why I came.” She says finally.

“Then why?” he asks.

“I knew. About the bet. Since it started.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“What?” Harry asks finally.

“Since September. I knew.” She says.

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Parkinson says, irritated. “The point is that I knew, and that I hid it from my best friend for _three_ months because I kept thinking that you really did feel something for him and I thought you would tell him yourself.”

“I wanted to,” Harry manages past the knot in his throat.

“Then why didn’t you?” Parkinson demands. “Merlin, Blaise _knew_ I knew something and I lied to him because I thought you would step the fuck up Potter.”

“That’s not my fault.” Harry says angrily. “You could’ve told Draco when you found out.”

“I should’ve.” Parkinson snaps harshly.

They’re both quiet, and Parkinson takes a deep breath.

“That’s not why I came, either.” She says.

“Then what?” Harry asks.

“Are you planning to get him back?”

The question throws Harry off completely.

“What?”

“Are you planning to get him back?” Parkinson repeats, slower, as if Harry’s an idiot. “Because I need to know, Potter, whether I was right about you or not.”

“He hates me.” It hurts to even think about it.

“So the fuck what, Potter?” Parkinson scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You hated each other for seven years and he still went out with you.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It’s more personal.” Parkinson agrees. “You hurt him a lot.”

Harry flinches and looks down.

“Look, Potter, I don’t like you.” Parkinson states without preambles. “But Merlin knows you made Draco happier than I’ve seen him in a long time, and I want that for him. He deserves that.”

“I know.” He does.

“Then fucking do something!” She says. “Get the fuck off your sorry arse, take a shower, use that thick head of yours for once in your life and think of something! You know Draco better than a lot of people.”

“But-” Harry begins.

“Potter, if you continue this horrible wallowing of self-pity I will track down the richest, most handsome wizard you have ever seen in your life and get Draco a date with him.” Parkinson snaps. “Either do something _now_ or tell me if you’re done with Draco so I can get you off his mind.”

“I do want him back.” Harry says.

“Good.” Parkinson says. “Then we’ve got a lot to do.”


	13. Draco gets a tattoo

Charlie sighs. “Draco, this is a really bad idea. We’re not even supposed to be together outside of school, I’m technically your teacher.”

“You’re free to leave.” Draco says.

Charlie sighs again and crosses his arms, but he doesn’t leave.

“You’ve gotten a thousand tattoos here.” The blonde says, if only to ease his mind. “Nothing will go wrong.”

“Yes, but I’ve never gotten a tattoo this close after a breakup.” Charlie points out.

Draco glares venomously, and Charlie sighs and looks away. How the redhead found out Draco doesn’t know, but the Weasel must’ve told him.

“I’m just saying, this might not be the best idea,” Charlie says, for the thousandth time.

“And I’m just saying I don’t care.” Draco says, for the thousandth time.

Charlie looks like he’s about to get a headache. Draco knows he’s being difficult, but Charlie didn’t have to come. He’d merely asked where Charlie got his and somehow the man had gotten it into his head that he needed to accompany Draco.

“Have you decided?” the tattoo artist asks. She’s blonde hair with dyed lavender tips, and a crooked nose with a ring in it. She’s also got a ring on her lip and on her eyebrow, and she’s dressed in fishnets, a leather skirt, and a ripped shirt.

“This one.” Draco points out.

Charlie looks it over and he purses his lips, but he doesn’t say anything.

Alexa – the tattoo artist – makes him take off his shirt, and begins drawing his tattoo on his shoulder blade with her wand. It’s a sleek black snake, still a baby – Alexa told him it’d grow – that hisses as soon as it’s complete, and then goes to settle at the jut of his hipbone to sleep after blinking sleepily at him a few times.

“They sleep a lot, at first.” Alexa tells him. “It’s going to be a bit tender and sore for a few days, but it should be fine by next week. If it still hurts, you can come see me.” She hands him a card with her floo address.

“Thank you,” Draco says as he puts his shirt back on.

“You’re welcome, apple pie.” She says. “If you want another tattoo, you know where to find me.” Draco nods, smiling lightly. “What about you, Charlie? Another tattoo?”

“Not this time, Lex.” Charlie says. “Thanks though.”

“No problem, handsome.” She purrs.

Draco pays for the tattoo, and they leave the parlor.

“You can leave now.” Draco says, eyeing Charlie carefully. “I won’t go and get myself killed.”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Where are your friends? Aren’t they supposed to be taking care of you?”

Draco doesn’t respond.

He’s still not speaking to Pansy, and he’s been ignoring Blaise and Theo since the last day of school.

“I don’t need people taking care of me.” He says petulantly.

He’s pretty sure Charlie disagrees.

“Are you at least going to buy me ice cream?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“What for?” Charlie asks.

“Being a pain in my arse.”

Charlie snorts, but he does buy Draco ice cream.

“I’m going back to Romania.” Charlie tells him, after he pays for the ice cream with Muggle money. “After Christmas.”

“You won’t come back to Hogwarts?” Draco asks, surprised.

He’s not _sad_ , per se. It’s not like Charlie and him are great friends or anything, but they spent a lot of time in detention together, and Draco’s grown fond of him.

“No,” Charlie says. “Mushu’s too big now, I’m taking her back to the reserve.”

“Cool.” Draco says.

Charlie chews on his lower lip.

“You could come, you know.” He says.

“What?” Draco asks.

“To Romania.” Charlie states. “With me. You’re almost done with Hogwarts, you could join me in the summer. Or we could leave, now. Nothing’s stopping you. I really like you, Draco.”

Draco stares at Charlie, and doesn’t react when Charlie kisses him softly.

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” Charlie tells him, getting up. “You can think about it. I’ve got to go. You can owl me when you’ve made a choice.”

And he leaves.

He’s alone, and he’s in a muggle area, so he doesn’t know where to go. He walks around for a bit before he recognizes a place, and he goes in.

“Draco!” Cedric Diggory is just as handsome as the last time Draco saw him, and he smiles widely when he sees him. “What’re you doing here? How are you?”

He’s a professional Quidditch Player now, but he’s usually back for the holidays, and he’s usually here, in PARADISE, a muggle bakery.

“Fine.” Draco says, breathing out. “Mind if I sit?”

Cedric frowns and nods. Though they broke up, they still see each other from time to time, and they’re friendly.

“Is there a problem?” He asks.

“No.” Draco says. Then, “I’m dating Harry Potter. Was. Am? Was.”

Cedric nods and closes the book he was reading, leaning forward interestedly.

“Coffee?” A waiter asks, and Cedric orders Draco a Cookies and Cream Milkshake with extra cookies and extra whipped cream. It’s Draco’s favorite.

“And did he do something?” Cedric asks.

Draco tells him everything. Everything that happened, every detail, every emotion, every date and fight and _everything_ and Cedric listens with rapt attention and nods along, asking questions and commenting in certain parts. When he finishes, Cedric frowns.

“Why’d you break up with him?” He asks.

Draco thanks the waiter when he arrives with his milkshake, and frowns while he takes a sip.

“Didn’t you just hear the story?” he asks. He grabs a strawberry from Cedric’s plate – he slaps his hand away and Draco sticks his tongue out at him – and puts it in his mouth.

“Yes, I did.” Cedric says, taking a bite from his strawberry shortcake. “You sound like you’re really in love with this guy.”

“So?” Draco asks, a bit defensively. “He was only dating me because of a bet!”

“No,” Cedric cocks an eyebrow. “He _started_ dating you because of a bet. While still horrible, not the same thing. How long did you date?”

“About four months.” He says.

“Okay, four months.” Cedric nods. “Draco, _no one_ spends _four_ months trying to get into someone’s pants. Especially since you make it sound like he’s had no trouble getting into people’s pants in the past. It’s not like you were his only option, so he could’ve said ‘fuck it’ after the first two weeks.”

“Well, yeah,” Draco begins, but Cedric continues.

“And he sounds like he was really in love with you, too.” He says. “You said he wanted you to meet his parents?”

They’d talked about it a few times, but Draco’d been too nervous to agree.

“Well, yeah, but-” Again, Cedric continues.

“Why would he want that unless he wanted to keep dating you?” He asks. “And, again, I agree it was horrible, and I agree that he should’ve told you from the beginning, but he didn’t. So the question now, is, if this could go long term, if you could marry this guy, if you both wanted to keep dating, would it matter to you that it started because of a bet?”

Draco doesn’t know. He’s still mad at Harry, but Cedric makes it sound almost irrelevant, and then Charlie just invited him to Romania…

“There’s another guy.” He says quietly.

“And?” Cedric asks.

“He’s older than me. Older than you, too. Invited me to go with him to Romania.”

“In vacation?”

“To live.”

Cedric whistles lowly.

“Okay,” He says. “Do you like him better?”

“I don’t know. We’re not dating. I didn’t even think he liked me like that.” He says.

“If you didn’t know about the bet, who would you choose?”

Harry. In a heartbeat.

“It’s not that simple.” Draco says. “He _did_ make the bet.”

“Yes,” Cedric says. “And I tended to get distant for weeks when focusing on things, and this Romania guy will also have flaws or quirks or will do and have done things you don’t like. Everyone will.”

Draco’s silent for a moment.

“I’m terrified.” He says quietly. “Whatever I choose – going to Romania with Charlie seems too serious, and staying here and working things out with Harry is…” _Too much. Too painful_. “He hurt me. a lot.”

“I know,” Cedric says quietly. “It’s a risk you take, in any relationship.”

“I used to think he’d never hurt me.”

“Whoever you date is going to hurt you eventually.” Cedric says. “No matter how much you love them, no matter how much they love you. Relationships aren’t that simple. But no matter what, you’re always supposed to feel _safe,_ they’re supposed to make you feel good more often than not _._ You’re still very young. You’re not even out of Hogwarts. You have time. You have _so much_ time. You’ll date people who you’ll love and still break up with, you’ll date people who you’ll hate with all your guts even before it’s over. You’ll love people more than they love you and people will love you more than you love them. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay. So right here, right now, if there’re two Floos and one will take you to Harry and one will take you to Charlie, which one would you walk through?”

Draco’s heart is trying to escape his ribs.

“And if I make the wrong choice?” He asks. “If it doesn’t work out?”

“The right choice is the one you make.” Cedric shrugs. “And if it doesn’t work out, you took the risk. You did it. It’ll be fine. It’ll always be fine.”

Draco chews on his lower lip and nods.

“I hate you so much, you know that?” He says.

Cedric laughs. “I know, my little Dragon. I know.”

“I-” Draco knows what he needs to do. He knows what he wants. “I need to leave. I’m sorry. I have to go. I need to go find someone.”

Cedric laughs as Draco shoots out of his seat, but Draco doesn’t bother to turn around.

He Apparates back to his house – it’s snowing outside, so he wants to grab his coat before he leaves again – and sees his parents in the living room.

“Draco, where are you going?” His mother asks, frowning lightly. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I know.” Draco says breathlessly, struggling to get his coat on and wrap a scarf around his neck at the same time. “I know. I’ll be right back. I just need to go find-” he opens the door and finds someone already standing there. “Harry.”

Harry swallows. “Hi.”


	14. The end

“I was looking for you.” Draco says.

“Yeah?” Harry’s whole expression lights up.

“Yeah.” Draco agrees, a bit dazed. “I love you, Harry. I do. What you did really hurt me.”

Harry’s face crumples.

“I know.” He says, taking a deep breath. “I know. That’s why I was looking for you. I made the bet and I didn’t think it through, and I shouldn’t have had to fall in love with you to realize how dumb and cruel it was. After, when I finally did realize it, I should’ve told you, whether or not it would hurt you, because you should’ve heard it from me. There’s no excuse for that.”

Draco opens his mouth to speak, but Harry continues, a bit out of breath.

“I know I can say whatever I want and then turn around and do just the opposite, and if our positions were reversed I know I could never just forgive you, no matter what promises you made, so I don’t expect you to. I want to know what you want, and whatever it is,” he swallows audibly. “Whether it is to get back together or if you never want to hear from me again, I’ll respect it.”

Draco swallows, too.

“I – I don’t think I can date you right now.” He whispers. He thought he could – Cedric made it seem so easy, and maybe he is, but it doesn’t feel that way, and Draco can’t cross his own boundaries. He won’t do that to himself.

Harry smiles grimly.

“I thought you might say that.” He says. “So I’ve a proposition for you. We don’t get back together. Not right now. I hurt me and if we get back together now, it would be unrealistic for me to expect you to trust me fully. And we’ll just manage to mess this whole thing further.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to push down the panic in his stomach.

“We hated each other and then we dated and we kind of skipped the whole ‘friends’ part.” He says. “So I want to get to know you. As a friend. And I _do_ want us to be friends, whether or not we date again. So we can be friends. We can talk, and go out, and study together or whatever we want to do, and if you want to get back together, you’ll tell me. If you change your mind, we can keep being friends, and if you decide you also don’t want to be friends, I’ll respect that, too.”

“You could change your mind, too.” Draco says quietly.

Harry scoffs a bit. “I won’t.”

“You can’t know that.” Draco says.

“I do,” Harry says simply.

Narcissa and Kingsley, who’ve been sitting on the living room sofa looking quite a bit entertained, clear their throats.

“Mr. Potter, would you like to stay for dinner?” Narcissa asks.

Harry smiles, a bit apologetically.

“I’m sorry, but I must get going.” He says. “I didn’t tell my parent I’d be gone. Thank you. For your time.”

They both nod, and Harry smiles lightly at Draco.

“Thank you, too, Draco.” He says. “I’ll see you at school.”

Draco nods, a bit dumbly, and Harry leaves.

Draco floos to Blaise’s immediately.

“Potter stopped by my house.” He says breathlessly.

Blaise has a forkful of apple pie halfway to his mouth, and he raises a brow when he sees him. Olivia Zabini – Blaise’s mother – takes a sip of wine and smiles.

“Okay,” he says as he puts his fork down. “We can talk in the bedroom.”

Draco explains everything, and Blaise listens attentively. He frowns.

“So… Potter said he doesn’t want to get back together right now, and he’ll give you all the time you need to trust him again?” he asks.

Draco nods. “He said he wants to be friends.”

“And if you never want to get back together with him?” Blaise asks.

Draco gives him a deadpan look, and Blaise rolls his eyes and gestures for him to answer anyway.

“He said he’ll respect it.” He says. “Whatever I want.”

“That’s…” Blaise hesitates. “A lot more mature than I expected from him, to be honest.”

“Me, too.” Draco agrees. He chews on his lower lip. “Do you think I should do it?”

“What? Date him again?”

“Yeah.”

Blaise’s mouth twists. “I don’t like that he hurt you.”

“But?” Draco asks.

“There’s no but.” Blaise says. “It’s just… I can see how much you care about him, and I’d have to be blind to not have seen that he cares about you, too. And I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Potter is right. Trying out the friends thing is the best option I can see. If you’re friends with him a few months and you still feel the same about him, you can decide to get back together. If you change your mind, you’re still friends.” Then he scowls. “I’ll hex his balls off if he hurts you again.”

Draco snorts, even if he feels fond warmth spread across his chest.

“Okay, _mom_.” He teases.

Blaise rolls his eyes and flips him off.

“Shut up.” He says. Then, “And go to sleep. It’s late.”

Draco laughs.

They go back to school in January, and his friendship with Potter is awkward and loaded at first, neither sure how to be friends with each other, at least until after their first argument, over Quidditch of all things, where Draco throws Potter a jinx that leaves him speaking in songs for two days and Potter jinxes Draco’s hair blue.

They’re both a lot more relaxed afterwards.

The months pass quickly after that. Draco’s still not speaking to Pansy, but she knows better than to try and corner him, so when they’re both sitting in the Slytherin Common Room alone and he doesn’t leave, she lets out a relieved breath and speaks.

“I’m sorry.” She says. “That I didn’t tell you about Potter. And I’m sorry that when I knew I had to tell you I let Blaise do it instead of telling you myself. It wasn’t my right to decide whether or not you needed to know, and it was my obligation as your friend to tell you that I knew something that you didn’t. I love you, Dragon. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Draco plays with the hem of his pajama pants, curling his legs underneath him, and huffs.

“You can start by never hiding anything like that from me ever again, you witch.” He says.

Even though her eyes are wet and teary, Pansy gives a choked little laugh, and she throws a pillow at him.

He laughs, too, and they’re friends again, or something.

With Harry and Draco spending a lot of time together, their friends do, too, and eventually they all become one big, mixed, group.

He enjoys his friendship with Harry greatly; he’s funny, and loyal, and affectionate, and also completely infuriating and thick-headed in the most exasperating ways and Draco's so in love with him it _hurts_ and Harry feels the same way and it's better than he could ever imagine. 

In May, they’re sitting in the couch after a party – they’re done with their NEWTS, and everyone wanted to celebrate – and Draco turns to Harry and says,

“Now.”

Harry doesn’t need further words. He grins the widest Draco’s ever seen him, and kisses him so intensely Draco’s barely able to breathe.

The next morning Draco wakes up with Harry curled around him like a Koala, and when he wakes up too he kisses Draco again and they don’t get up the whole day and he’s _happy_.

It’s all he wanted since the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo this is it for this fic :( I thought i'd be happy when i finally finished it but tbh i'm sort of sad it ended... Anyways, love all of you guys, I hope you liked it, thank you for reading <3333333


End file.
